


On Hallowed Grounds A Darkling Mask Speaks

by ISC



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blood Drinking, Blood Magic, Bloodplay, Cannibalism, Character Bashing, Character Death, Dark Draco Malfoy, Dark Harry, F/F, F/M, Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Incest, M/M, Multi, Necrophilia, Oral Sex, Pseudo-Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, The Potters Live, Torture, Vaginal Fingering, Violence, human mutilation, mutilation of a corpse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-19 12:30:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9440570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ISC/pseuds/ISC
Summary: In 1989, a year after the birth of their son Harry, the Potter’s make an impossible decision in the wake of a prophecy and the rise of a Dark Lord. They hide their son away at a muggle orphanage on the outskirt of town.Nearly two years later, Voldemort has gone into hiding, and a surprise pregnancy has James and Lily desperate to reunite with their son. Only to find that St. Otto’s Home has burnt to the ground, taking the souls of 23 orphaned children and 3 nuns. Their beloved first born included.13 Years have gone by, and the Order has captured a valuable asset with familiar green eyes. The Dark Lord’s son is known for his wickedness, deathly appearance and power. He is their only chance at freeing the prisoners of war left behind at Voldemort’s hidden camp. Dumbledore is determined to extract the information from the young man, his determination, however, is blinding





	1. I Can Feel Your Presence Amongst Us

**Author's Note:**

> Non-profit Fanfiction based on characters owned by JK Rowling.  
> This is a WIP, and will have slow updates but it **will** have updates.
> 
> This chapter has several POV's.

On Hallowed Grounds A Darkling Mask Speaks  


I Can Feel Your Presence Amongst Us  
-oo00oo-

Grunting, James Potter tried not to stumble as he followed Albus down to the basement of number 12 Grimmauld place. After four solid years of battling, with losses on both sides, the war against The Dark Lord had been won. Voldemort, the former Slytherin graduate Tom Marvolo Riddle, was dead, his corpse entombed in the Department of Mysteries. The wizarding world was lit with celebration, fire works, jubilation, and parades. Inside of the hidden location of the Order of the Phoenix, however, the mood was distinctly tense. 

Though the Dark Lord was dead, and many of his followers captured and set to stand trial, they were still missing some of their numbers. In the last siege before the final battle, Sirius Black, Severus Snape, Bill Weasley and Draco Malfoy had been captured and secured in a location known only by the Dark Lord and Mamba, the demonic son of Voldemort. 

They had experienced a score of luck, however, after the death of Voldemort, Mamba had fallen at his sire’s side and hadn’t offered much resistance when James and his partner, Remus Lupin, had shackled him and apparated him to their quarters. Now, after leaving the man to sit in a cell for 16 hours, unfed, unwatered and unlit, they were going to question him. They hoped that he would cooperate, even if he had been mysteriously silent since his capture. 

Shaking his head, James tried to suppress his nerves. He knew, logically, that Mamba was just a teenager, young, barely older than his son, but he couldn’t help the tremble of unease that spawned from the superstition surrounding the man. Six years ago, when Voldemort began his guerilla warfare attacks, the first sighting of Mamba had been reported. 

Six years ago James had taken his squadron on a civilian call in Diagon Alley. There had been emergency calls from civilians claiming sightings of suspected Death Eater activity. James had taken two young aurors with him to investigate the claims while making sure to send word to Dumbledore. Once in the Alley they had managed to discreetly meet up with with devout Order member, Remus Lupin. James had been clearing away rubble from a destroyed building when he spotted the child.

Mamba had been slight, lean and silent as well as efficient and deadly. He had followed behind the robust form of Fenrir Greyback, a silent spectre shrouded in an Avada Kedavra green coat. The Order had stumbled when he’d first been spotted, terrified that the Dark Lord had captured a child. When they had sent Nymphadora Tonks to help the child while Remus distracted Greyback, they had thought of nothing but saving the child.  


It had been their first mistake with Mamba. Tonks had crept up on the child from the side, wand down and attempting to quietly assure him of her good intentions. The boy had turned to her, hood up, hands folded inside his sleeves, a gleam of a smile greeted her as she drew close enough to reach out to him. She never even had a chance to scream, when James had looked up to assess her progress he had frozen in horror. 

The child had thrown his hood back, black hair fell around his ears, moon pale skin glowing in the early morning light as he stood over the fallen body of Tonks. The child held a bloody blade in his hand, his other hand wrapped tightly in the fallen womans’ hair. Remus had screamed, his distraction leaving an opening for Fenrir to rip his claws down his back before sprinting away. James had enough thought to not drop the rubble he had been levitating before running to his fallen ally. 

The child had stepped back, dagger positioned dangerously close to his mouth as he watched James fall to his knees at Tonks’ side. Checking her pulse, James tried not to look at the gaping slash across her throat as he vainly sought out her heartbeat. James had looked up at the boy and felt his own heart stop, the child was dragging his tongue up the side of the dagger, lapping the blood like a monster as he watched James with glowing green eyes. 

Even six years later, James sometimes woke from nightmares where those eyes stared up at him as he crouched over the fallen bodies of his loved ones. Losing Tonks had been rough on them, Remus in particular. The werewolf had thrown himself into the Order, going on missions for weeks, sometimes months at a time. Tonks had only been 20, just out of training, and madly in love with their resident sandy haired Gryffindor.

Shaking away his trek down memory lane, James brought his attention back to the moment, forcing the tremor in his hands to stop. Albus held himself regally, his towering height often made their enemies slip, if not for this then his sterling reputation as the most powerful wizard in the word certainly made them falter.

Albus stroked his beard, turning to face them in front of the door that separated them from the prisoner holding. The unease in James’ gut twisted uncomfortably, Remus practically vibrated with impatience at his side. 

Smiling gently, Albus folded his hands behind his beard, shoulders stretching broadly. “I want you gentlemen to allow me to take the lead. I am aware of your history with our _guest_ , but I ask you for patience. Lily and Charlie will be along briefly to assist us. I am hoping that, failing our attempts at reasoning with the young man, their softer touch will open him up to our viewpoint.”

James pulled himself taller, noticing Remus doing the same out of the corner of his eye, the friends bit a bitter smile at each other, taking a moment to breathe before facing the boy that killed their colleague. They murmured their agreement to Dumbledore, bodies rigid and faces falling blank. 

Smiling slightly, Albus turned and pushed his way into the room, James and Remus at his heels. Albus lit the torches in the room with a slight wave of his hand, James had to force himself to keep a straight face. Wandless casting was a good assertion of dominance. 

Their prisoner sat small cell, there was no cot, no toilet, no sink and no window in the cell, just stone walls and a barred doorway. The young man sat naked, criss-cross in the center of the floor, eyes closed and body relaxed. They had stripped him of his wand, weapons and clothing before throwing him into the cell, and in spite of that he appeared careless. 

The three men took a moment to stare at the child’s body in silent horror. He was covered in scars and tattoos, there wasn’t an untouched inch on the boy’s body, even the soles of his feet were tattooed in a barrage of swirling line work. Swallowing down his disgust and sympathy, James flanked Albus’ right side while Remus took the left.

Albus smiled benevolently at the boy, eyes sweeping over the marks with curiosity. “Hello child, do you know who I am?”

The boy lifted his head, green eyes locked intently on Dumbledore’s blue. The young man cocked his head, a small, wicked smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, a pleasure.” The boy nodded his head in greeting, the picture of charm. 

Dumbledore smiled wider, shoulders relaxing. “The pleasure is all mine. Might I ask your name?”

The boy wiggled his shoulders, body serpentine, with a roll of his back he sprang to his feet, seemingly unconcerned with his nudity. “I believe your little group knows me as Mamba. I assume it is a shorthand for Black Mamba, I am quite fond of that.”

“Yes, we have referred to you as Mamba, but I would like to know your given name.”

Mamba stood right up against the bars of the cell, hands curling around the bars. “You do not know it already? Here I always thought you had Severus Snape in your pocket.”

“Are you saying Severus knows who you are?”

“Oh, yes.”

Blinking at the bluntness, Albus cut his eyes at James, a clear signal for the auror to bring his own skillset to the interrogation. James cleared his throat, taking a miniscule step forward to grab the attention of the young man. “As pleasant as this conversation is, we need your cooperation. We are prepared to offer you a deal of a lesser sentence on behalf of the Ministry. If you cooperate you won’t be sentenced to the Kiss, and if you are particularly helpful, you may even avoid a life sentence in Azkaban. Are you prepared to comply with our investigation?”

Mamba appeared to be amused, his eyes seemed to gleam with humor as he stared at the bespectacled man. “What particular information do you seek Mr. Potter?”

Rearing back, James couldn’t hide his shock. Knowing Dumbledore wasn’t a surprise, all of the wizarding world knew Albus. Knowing him, though, was a surprise. It confirmed that someone had been feeding information back to Voldemort. In public, James denounced the Order of the Phoenix, making sure his ties with the organization and Dumbledore weren’t known by anyone not in the Order. 

Forcing himself to remain on task, James took another step closer, ever vigilant to stay out of arm's reach of the boy. “Where did Voldemort keep his captives?”

“Captives? Oh, you mean those delightful little playthings he gave me?”

“Where is the encampment?”

Mamba seemed to consider the question, eyes locked on James, much like his namesake. Refusing to blink, James ignored the arrival of his wife and the second oldest Weasley child. “Hmm, a reduced sentence and no death sentence? Is there something else you can offer to sweeten the pot? This is valuable information you seek.”

Growling low in his throat, Remus surged forward with a snarl. “You don’t deserve anything _sweeter **Death Eater scum**_!”

James reached out to yank Remus away from the cell, leary of the hungry look on the young captive’s face. “Remus, stand down!”

Snarling, Remus ripped himself away and crossed his arms. “I say we torture the information out of him. It’s what his _dear father_ would do.”

“Remus!”

“Then again, his father is dead, isn’t he?” Smiling cruelly, Remus stalked forward again, eyes glowing a werewolf yellow. “We killed him. Shot him down and then slit his throat while you stood by and _watched_ , helpless. How does it feel, scum, to be an orphan? How did it to feel to stand over the corpse of your father, bathed in his blood?”

Mamba stared back, eyes hard and mouth drawn. James felt a twinge sorrow. Mamba may be a murderer and the son of a Dark Lord, but he was still a child. It felt cruel to rub the death of his father in his face. Mamba was silent for a moment, staring into the eyes of Remus with a cool composure. A composure that began to crack as the boy began to laugh. 

Throwing his head back, Mamba tore his hands away from the cell bars, body shuddering with his laughter. Shocked, Remus stepped back, hands trembling with anger. Mamba continued to laugh, body shaking as he reveled in his mirth. “Oh Salazar, father told me that you all would be hilariously inefficient, but he did not tell me how generally _amusing_ you would all be!”

Giggling, Mamba stepped flush with the bars, body pressed obscenely against doorway. James averted his eyes, heat rising in his cheeks. He noticed Lily covering her eyes, disgust on her face. Charlie looked shocked, cheeks stained the same red as James’. “Oh, you sweet, naive werewolf. Did you honestly think bringing up the death of my father would reduce me to tears? Is that how your side responds? Despair in the face of tragedy? How very quaint.”

Mamba brushed his hand across his neck, eyes locking on Charlie’s from across the room. Smiling, the teen drew his hand down across his chest and paused at his thighs, fingers curling suggestively. James heard Charlie whimper, turning toward his younger friend, James watched the shock and disgust warring with lust on the redhead’s face. 

“If you are looking to make me stumble, I am afraid you will have to find another avenue. I may love my father passionately and completely, but I do not mourn his death.” Smiling, Mamba ran his fingers back up to his neck, eyes never leaving Charlie’s. “My father was a brilliant wizard, and he worked for a goal. His demise was avoidable. Arrogance should never interfere with a goal.” 

Dumbledore seemed to sag, his body still strong, but something about Mamba’s speech seemed to depress him somehow. Sparing a questioning glance at Albus, James forced himself to turn back to the imprisoned teen. Keeping his eyes steadily locked on the teen’s face, James steeled himself to step forward again. “Let’s cut to the core of things here _Mamba_. You give us the location of our people, and we will see about a probationary based sentence due to your age.”

Shifting his attention to James, Mamba pressed two fingers against his lips, somehow making the simple gesture obscene. “Well that seems like a delightfully horrible agreement. I accept!” Cackling, Mamba curled his finger at James.

Against his better judgement, ignoring the protests of his wife and peers, James stepped closer to their prisoner. Swallowing down his nerves, James stopped within a hairsbreadth of the cell and the teen inside. Quick as the snake he was named after, Mamba snatched a fistful of the auror’s robes. James yelped as he slammed face first into the bars of the cell. Mamba’s face was pressed close, their noses touched in a disturbingly intimate way. 

Shouts from the room had James waving his hand, signaling his friends to stay back. Mamba licked his lips, hands surprisingly strong as he held James in place. “Paddington Old Cemetery, Merlin’s Plot.” Stretching forward, Mamba pressed a soft kiss against the older man’s nose. “Best be quick little stag, they will not last much longer.”

Laughing in James’ face, Mamba shoved the auror back and finally stepped away from the bars. “Run, run little stag.”

Fighting back the want to question Mamba further, and about the ‘stag’ comment, James grasped blindly for his wife and followed Charlie and Remus out of the dungeon of number 12 Grimmauld place.

-oo00oo-

They hit the ground running, after apparating to Paddington Old Cemetery, they ran toward Merlin’s Plot, each of them disillusioned to the muggles mulling around the burial ground. Lily’s hand held his with the strength he’d always admired in his wife. Remus was ahead of them, his lithe body wove between tombstones in a strong imitation of his wolf counterpart. 

Running through the archway that separated the muggle cemetery from the wizarding one, James shouted as he nearly crashed into Remus’ frozen frame. 

“Oh Merlin.” Lily dropped his hand, hands coming up to cover her mouth. James felt lightheaded. Merlin’s Plot was in ruins. The Slytherin Mausoleum, the crowning feature of Old Paddington Cemetery, was the only structure left standing. The other three founder mausoleums were completely destroyed.

Shaking off his shock, James signaled for Remus and Charlie to flank him as he began to approach the last standing structure. “Lily, stay back, we may need you if there are traps.”

Lily nodded, mouth drawn tight as she stayed behind. James took a deep breath, he reached for the door, body going rigid as he encountered no locks, no traps, no deterrents. Sparing a nervous glance at Remus, James nodded his head, wand at the ready, and pulled the door open. They didn’t have to go very far, half of the mausoleum had been transfigured into a cell. The four missing members of the Order looked a little rough but otherwise unharmed. 

Their cell was large enough for four beds and some leg space, along with a sink and toilet and what appeared to be a magically replenishing food source on a small table. James felt his heart swell at the sight of his brother, unharmed, alive, bickering with Snape. Taking an abortive step forward, James breathed out a soft “Sirius”, nearly laughing when the man in question whipped toward him fast enough to snap his neck. 

“Prongs? **PRONGS!** ” Laughing, James took off at a run, barely managing to stop himself from slamming into the cell bars as he reached for his friend. Sirius clasped his arms, forehead resting against the bars as they laughed. “Prongs. Merlin dammed, took you long enough brother.”

“James, move back so I can unlock the door.” With a start, James jerked around and smiled at his wife, tears falling unashamedly. 

With one last glance at his brother, James stepped back to give Lily room. She took a moment to smile sweetly at Snape, then the others, before working on removing the complicated locking charms on their cage. Malfoy and Bill were standing just behind their cellmates, tired smiles on their faces. None of them seemed injured or healing. Other than looking a little pale and gaunt, they all appeared to be healthy. 

A click snapped him back to the present, and, taking a moment to grab Remus, James rushed forward to wrap his arms around Sirius, forcing his sandy haired friend to do the same. Remus was tentative, arms shaking as he engulfed both men in a bear hug, chin resting against his own chest as he shook. 

He heard the commotion as Bill and Malfoy thanked Lily, both men hollering when Charlie swept in and grabbed them both in a tight hug. James grinned at the annoyed grunt from Snape when Lily launched herself at him in a hug. It felt like a dream, alive and uninjured, it was almost too good to be true. Sighing, James pulled back and took a moment to survey the room, noticing for the first time the second cell tucked against the side wall. It was small, barely bigger than an upright coffin, and the door was open. Inside there was a small bucket and splashes of what appeared to be dried blood. 

With a frown, James pulled away from his friends to investigate the small cell. “Pads, what is this?”

Behind him, Lily was conjuring trauma blankets and forcing each man to take one. Sirius was wrapping the conjured blanket around his shoulders as he stepped up as if to answer but Malfoy’s soft drawl cut him off. “That’s where The Dark Lord kept his son.”

Spinning around, James stared at the blonde boy, disbelief clouding his thoughts. “What?”

Shrugging off Snape’s hand, Malfoy stepped toward James with a cold superiority. “I said, that is where The Dark Lord kept his son. When he wasn’t using him as an attack dog that is.”

Glancing back at the painfully small cell, James winced at the churning of unease in his gut. “Why aren’t any of you injured? What happened here?”

-oo00oo-

Bill didn’t know why he did it, why he was compelled to creep out of his bed in the middle of the night and sneak down to the dungeon where they were keeping Voldemort’s son under constant surveillance. They had all been cleared medically just a few hours ago, and after three hours trapped in his family’s overwhelming excitement and downright smothering presence, he had finally managed to slip away. 

Over three weeks they had been kept locked inside of Slytherin Mausoleum. 28 long days trapped with Severus and Sirius at each other's throats. 28 days of Draco growing more and more sullen and withdrawn. 28 days of bread, water, cheese, turkey and oranges. 28 days of eating, drinking, sleeping, crying, screaming, sink baths, jerking off and shitting in front of his colleagues. And for 24 of those 28 days, all four of them had watched as the son of The Dark Lord was tortured. 

Every day a Death Eater would appear, they would pull the boy out of his cage, chain him to the floor and experiment with spells, curses and potions. When those grew dull, they would move on to muggle torture. It was during those moments each day that the four of them would huddle on the furthest bed, wrapped around each other and unable to look away as the teen was mutilated. Through it all, day after day, unfed, unhealed, unwashed, the boy never made a sound except laughter. 

The laughter seemed to please the Death Eaters, they would murmur in excitement, sometimes even rewarding the teen’s jubilation with food or water. It was during these sessions that Bill noticed, for the first time, that the slender man was probably, at most, Draco’s age. It left a bitter taste in their mouths once they realized it. 

Bill was ashamed to say he never tried to stop the torture. Knowing that drawing attention to them would only succeed in spurring their own inevitable torture. Instead he, along with his cellmates, sat back and watched it happen, everyday. Until one morning the Death Eaters came and healed the boy. They led him out of his cage, hitting him with cleansing spells and healing spells before handing the teen a pair of black breeches and an emerald green cloak. 

The teen had looked up at his tormentors with a blank expression before a slow, wicked smile curved at his mouth. “Does daddy dearest want me to come out and play?”

The tallest Death Eater helped the teen fasten the cloak with a snake brooch, gloved hands swamping the young man’s throat. “Yes my lord.”

It was the only time they had heard the kid speak. And it was those words that followed the trio out of the mausoleum, none of them sparing a glance and the caged Order members. 

It was probably a twisted sense of guilt that led Bill’s feet down into the cold basement. Guilt that, while they had been kidnapped and locked away, they had all come out relatively unscathed. Guilt that while they sat huddled in the corner, the teen, the _child_ had been tortured nearly to death almost every day of their stay. Guilt that it seemed like a familiar hat to the young man. Guilt that the scars and full body tattooing was ritualistic and medieval in nature. 

Shaking away the cobwebs in his head, Bill took a deep breath and rounded the corner. Mundungus ‘Dung’ Fletcher was on guard duty, much to Bill’s luck, as the older wizard was stretched out in a chair, sound asleep. Shaking his head, Bill shot a nonverbal sleeping spell at Dung, just to reassure his privacy, and forced his feet to take him into the cell room. 

The boy, Mamba, was already at his cell door, arms stretched through the bars, hips canted and body on display. Bill forced himself to ignore the blush that lit up his neck in the unashamed nudity of the younger man. Mamba wasn’t very tall, barely taller than his baby sister Ginny if he had to hazard a guess. Lean muscles saved him from looking completely emaciated, and the sheer amount of tattooing that covered his entire body, face included, left it a little difficult to force his eyes toward the teen’s face. 

His eyes were just as haunting as all the tall tales led them to believe. They glowed in the dim dungeon light with an unholy Avada Kedavra green that left a swelling sense of nervousness pooling in Bill’s gut. Forcing himself forward, Bill stopped just out of arm's reach and took a moment to observe the other man up close. There were two delicate strips of tattooing that ran vertically down the boy's face, both starting at his forehead, stretching down over his eyes and curling under his sharp chin. 

Following a line of tattoo across the boy’s collar bone, Bill cleared his throat and lifted his eyes to meet the amused gaze of their captive. “Hullo.”

The teen practically purred in delight, body stretching like a flower toward the sun. “Hello William Weasley.”

James had warned him of the teen’s name trick, thankfully, or Bill might have been left gaping. Clearing his throat again, Bill steeled his nerves, fingers reflexively curling around his wand. “Are you... “ Sighing, Bill pushed his hand through his long hair and tried to ignore the smile on the other man’s face. “Are you being treated alright?”

Smiling, Mamba pressed closer, eyes flitting across Bill’s face, taking in the rakish scars that stretch from his brow to his chin. “Hmm, your Order has been as hospitable as I expected darling fledgling.”

Bill caught his subconscious move to reach up to his scars, the damage from Fenrir Greyback’s claws had caused him nothing but hardship in the last year. From Fleur being unable to handle the personality changes that came with being partially changed, to his family having to force themselves to look him in the face, Bill had not yet come to accept the transformation of his life caused by the attack. A fact that the teen seemed to see and exploit all within seconds of meeting him. It left Bill stumbling for words. 

Head cocked, Mamba licked his lips slowly, eyes forcing Bill to stare. “Ask what you came here to ask fledgling.”

“Why did they torture you? Why did you let them torture you?”

Smiling, Mamba pressed his face closer, cheeks catching on the bars, causing his mouth to stretch into a comically large grin. “I was being conditioned.”

“For what?”

Stretching, Mamba managed to brush his fingers over the scars on Bill’s face before the redhead had time to snatch himself away. “For my capture by your darling Order of the Phoenix, of course.”

“What? Was this _planned_?”

Wiggling his hips, Mamba continued to smile as he curled his hands in the air like claws, trying to snag Bill. “Of course Billy, of course. You did not honestly think a little battle and a little Ministry Auror could kill the Great Dark Lord Voldemort, did you?” Giggling, Mamba pulled back enough to twiddle his fingers at the redhead before launching himself at the bars. His momentum and slight frame allowed him enough ability to slip his upper body through the widest set of the bars. 

Curling his hands in Bill’s robes, much like he had done with James Potter earlier, Mamba hauled the Weasley closer, grunting as he slammed the redheads face into the magically reinforced cage. Faces pressed together, Bill didn’t have time to gasp before the young man slammed their mouths together in a brief, painful kiss. “Did you really think that blood traitor could kill The Dark Lord? Silly little almost werewolf. Silly little in-between. Belonging to nowhere and to no one.”

Tutting mockingly, Mamba let Bill pull away, laughing as the redhead cursed and spit, lifting a sleeve to wipe at his mouth. “You’re sick!”

Cackling, Mamba plopped himself down on the floor, back arching to crack satisfyingly. “I am just informed, dear. Nothing more.”

Turning away, Bill reversed the spell on Dung and hurried back up the stairs, trying to decide how to tell Dumbledore that he didn’t think Voldemort was as deceased as they had been led to believe. Shaking his head, Bill burst out of the basement and went to find the Headmaster, hoping against hope that the churning in his stomach was fear, not primal attraction.

-oo00oo-

Draco felt uncomfortable. He usually did in the company of so many Order members, but this emergency meeting Dumbledore had called had him all kinds of sideways. Twisting his fingers together under the table, Draco chanced a glance at his godfather, annoyance pooling in his gut at the older man’s aloofness. Of course Severus was the picture of serene disgust. The entirety of the Order was crammed into the grand dining hall of number 12, the table had been magically expanded and chairs had been conjured. Someone, probably Mrs. Weasley, had made a massive plate of sandwiches for the meeting. 

Dumbledore had not yet arrived, late to his own meeting, his seat at the head of the table was empty, as was the chair directly across from him at the other end of the table. Draco eyed the new chair dubiously, it was different than all the rest. Unlike the wooden chairs that held the order members it was stone, with sturdy, thick armrests. Draco had an uneasy feeling that he knew who that particular chair was intended for. 

The members began helping themselves to the food while they waited on Albus to arrive, Draco sneered at every attempt someone made to hand him a sandwich. The older Order members were still wallowing in guilt over their capture. Everytime he walked into a room someone, usually Mrs. Weasley, tried to force food down his throat. Despite the limited spread provided in the mausoleum, Draco just wasn’t hungry, his stomach still felt raw. They’d only been rescued yesterday, and after a month of forcing himself to eat the same food every day, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to eat. Food tasted like ash.

With a shake, Draco turned toward the opening door, eyes widening at his first glimpse of the Dark Lord’s son since their rescue. The Order insisted on referring to him as ‘Mamba’ still, even after having him in their possession for a few days. Mamba looked better than he had for most of their capture, still gaunt and pale, but no longer covered in open, festering wounds. 

Draco couldn’t help the burn of outrage that curled in his gut at the state of undress of the other teen. His hands were shackled, feet as well, and they kept him stripped completely bare. Snarling, Draco had to turn his head away as Potter let the teen to the stone chair at the end of the table, magically tethering his shackles down. Mrs. Weasley magically set a plate of sandwiches down within the prisoner’s reach, her ridiculous ‘mothering’ expression at full blast. 

Mamba shot a chilly grin at the red haired matron, jerking his hands forward to snatch up the plate of food. The teen pressed the plate close to his face, sniffing the sandwiches before whipping the entire platter to the side, seeming pleased when the plate shattered against the wall. Mrs. Weasley gasped, eyes _actually_ welling with tears. The woman was a brilliant performer, honestly. 

Mamba just continued to grin, eyes locked on the Weasley matriarch. Dumbledore vanished the mess with a wave of his hand, pausing to pat her on the shoulder before moving to take his seat. The professor steepled his fingers under his chin, smiling benevolently around at the room. 

“I want to thank you all for coming, I appreciate the attendance on such short notice. First order of business, welcome back to our dear friends!”

A cheer went up among the Order, everyone turning to pat the rescued members on their shoulders. Draco tried not flinch at each hand that reached for him. He couldn’t help but sneak another glance at Mamba, who seemed wholly amused at the entire situation. 

“I would also like to take a moment to thank our heroes tonight! Without James, Lily, Charlie and Remus we may have never met our _guest_ and we may have never been able to find out where our friends were being held.”

Another cheer went up, this one louder than the first. Someone passed around flutes of champagne to commemorate the moment. Draco accepted a glass with a nod of his head, noticing that, unlike the sandwiches, none of the members offered any to Mamba.

“Now that our celebrations are out of the way, let us discuss our next course of action. Though Voldemort may be gone for the moment, we need to make sure that there is no possible avenue for his possible return. That is why I have invited our _guest_ here to help us.”

The room erupted into chaos. The order members all jumped to their feet at once, screaming and shooting sparks from their wands. Draco leaned back in his chair, turning his attention fully toward Mamba. The other teen seemed delighted at the turn of events. 

Draco had known about Mamba for some time, as did Severus. After being forced by his family to take the Dark Mark, Draco had gone to his godfather, desperate for an escape from the nightmare that had become his life. Severus had taken him to Dumbledore, to the Order, to salvation. Working with the Order, working undercover among the Death Eaters, had taken probably ten years off of his life from stress, but it provided him with a feeling of freedom from the prison his father had built around him. 

While working undercover, Draco had met Mamba, the Dark Lord’s son had no name among the Death Eaters. Draco had only ever known him as ‘the Dark Prince’. The Dark Prince had taken a shine to Draco, though he didn’t know why. Everytime he apparated into the Riddle Manor the Dark Prince would show up within minutes, appearing at his side as silent as a spectre. 

Over time they had formed an, interesting, friendship. The Dark Prince had attached himself to Draco, silently following the blonde to meetings and favoring him with a seat close to the Dark Lord during obligatory meals among the higher society supporters. Trying to not get caught staring, Draco spared one last glance to check his… friend… for injury before turning his attention back to where Dumbledore was getting control back over the room.

“Friends! I understand your disquiet, I do. However, celebrations must be put on hold. It has been brought to my attention that the battle at the ministry may have been a ruse. Bill has informed me of a conversation he had with our Black Mamba, and in the wake of that I feel it would be best if we took preventative measures to ensure that Voldemort is truly gone. I have brought our _guest_ here to find out what he may know about any fail safe plans Voldemort may have had in place.”

At once, every eye in the room was locked onto Mamba’s restrained form, who smiled delightedly at the attention. Dumbledore attempted a grandfatherly smile, folding his hands in front of him on the table. “What do you say my boy? Do you think there is some information that you could help us with?”

Mamba wiggled his fingers, shifting in his seat to rub his bare back against the cool texture of the stone chair. “Oh, I am sure there is something I know that you do not, White Hat. The question of the night, however, is why should I provide you with my knowledge? How does it benefit me?”

A rumble of angry muttering swept through the room, however Dumbledore only smiled. “You are young, child, from what Madam Pomfrey tells me you are about 16 years old. Not yet a legal adult wizard. Since you were so cooperative earlier, the Minister has agreed to reduce your sentence to probation in the guardianship of a legal, ministry approved adult. If you provide us with some more of your valuable information we may be able to be persuaded to let you have some say so in who that guardian might be.”

Mamba smiled wider, teeth gleaming. “And if my choice is, say, Severus Snape?”

Snape went rigid beside Draco, eyes locked on the Dark Prince challengingly. Dumbledore just chuckled, seemingly pleased with the turn of the conversation. “Now, while that would be a wonderful adventure, I do not believe Dear Severus would be ministry approved. I would, however, be willing to provide you with a list of options. Willing volunteers.”

Mamba leaned toward the table, fingers steepling in imitation of Dumbledore. “Such as?”

Lily Potter stepped forward, determined cast to her mouth. “We will volunteer.”

Remus Lupin stepped forward as well, glowing eyes locked on the teen. “I will as will.”

Several other Order members volunteered, including the four oldest Weasley children, Sirius Black and Dung. Dumbledore seemed to glow with every name mentioned, like a proud father. Lip curling in disgust, Draco cut his eyes at his own guardian, Black, before turning to watch the reaction of the Dark Prince. Mamba just continued to smile, eyes glowing before locking on Draco.

Pushing himself as far forward as his restraints would allow, smiling turning as friendly as Draco had ever seen it. “What do you think Draco?”

Draco winced as every eye in the room turned to him. Dumbledore, in particular, had a hard, frustrated expression on his usually jovial face. However, having the Prince address him here, in front of the Order members meant that the binding curse Voldemort had placed on him was released. It was almost funny, two years of being bound to silence regarding any information on Prince had been washed away and still Draco felt drawn to the other teen. 

Locking eyes with Prince, Draco tried to calm his pounding heart. “It is really your choice, Prince. I, myself, am in custody of my cousin, Sirius Black.”

Nodding, Mamba turned his attention back to Dumbledore and shifted his weight in the stone chair he was trapped in. “Then I, too, will choose Sirius Black.”

Dumbledore spared one last glance at Draco before turning his attention back to their prisoner. “Well, now that we are temporarily settled on a guardian, what can you tell me about Voldemort’s plans?”

Mamba wiggled around in his seat for a moment, shoulders rolling, before he brought his hands back up to rest fully on the table. His unshackled hands. 

“Tell me Albus, what do you know about Horcruxes?” 

-oo00oo-


	2. You Cannot Hide in the Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are overall sexual themes beginning in this chapter and for the rest of the story.

Draco groaned, body sinking into his mattress like a lost lover. It had been a long few hours. After Mamba had dropped his little ‘horcrux’ bombshell the Order had spent hours taking notes, comparing maps and rumors. Mamba proved to be a fount of knowledge on the subject, all while taking them on a merry chase for every scrap of information. 

In the five hours that Mamba had dragged the meeting out into, they had learned that the Dark Lord had prepared for every possible outcome. Not only did he have **seven** horcruxes, he had also prepared a literal army of survivors to take the helm of his cause in his absence. They now had an unmentioned number of potential dark lords running around using the Death Eater title. 

Shaking away his thoughts, Draco stretched his arms up over his head and yawned. He was happy to be back, he wouldn’t dare admit it but he had missed this old house and this old bed, he even missed Sirius. Closing his eyes, Draco tried to convince himself that the scratching at his door was in his head. The door rattled before creaking open just enough for Mamba to slither in. 

“Little Dragon, I know you are awake.” Mamba sing-songed, climbing up the bed from the bottom. Mamba shimmied under the blankets, bare legs rubbing against Draco’s pajama clad ones. “Dragon, wakey wakey, I want you to play with me!”

Mamba chuckled, the sound coming out like rattling hiss, making Draco shudder. Forcing his eyes open, Draco stared at Mamba, taking in the other teen’s still nude state, and the smell of dirt that clung to his skin. He didn’t know how the brunette managed to get out of the dungeon on his own. After the meeting Sirius and Albus had bound the teen and locked him back in his cell downstairs, the Order having come to a mutual decision that it would be safer for now. 

Mamba smiled, pointed canines gleaming. “What say you to a little adventure Dragon?”

“What kind of adventure?”

Reaching up, Mamba pushed his fingers against Draco’s cheeks, exploring. “I would like to collect a horcrux, and there is one in this very house.”

“There’s one here? Why didn’t you tell Dumbledore?”

Wriggling closer, Mamba licked a sloppy line across Draco’s forehead. “The old wizard needs to stay alert or else he will get weak. I will not just hand him information he should already have known. He is a lazy Light Lord, if he truly desires to overthrow the Dark, then he should have already known about the horcruxes. Lazy, lazy.”

Draco considered this, hating the part of him that screamed in immediate, thoughtless agreement with the other boy. Even now he couldn’t seem to steer away from the burning loyalty Mamba inspired in him. The other teen seemed fascinated with the curl of hair that twisted around Draco’s left ear, if the tugging and discomforting chewing was anything to go by. Trying to _gently_ shove Mamba back, Draco slid back and climbed out of the bed.

“Alright then. Adventure.”

With a wicked smile, Mamba jumped out from under the covers, standing tall with his chest pressed against Draco. “May I borrow a cloak Draco? It might be easier to be unseen if I match the shadows.”

Laughing, Draco grabbed two black cloaks from his closet and followed the Dark Prince out of his bedroom. They slid down the hall, following the shadows, Draco with his hand wrapped around the edge of Mamba’s cloak. Mamba led them through the maze that was Grimmauld Place, the corners were sharp and the floor creaked, but Mamba moved like his namesake. 

They crept into the servants quarters behind the kitchen, the stench of filth and waste making Draco gag. Mamba just smiled wickedly at the other teen, dropping to his knees and crawling toward Kreacher’s broken little hovel beneath the utility sink. Draco covered his mouth when Mamba climbed into the cramped space, he could see the House Elf heads Kreacher had stolen from the wall lined up along the corners, he could smell them rotting as the preservation charms wore off. Mamba seemed unfazed, laughing even as one head crumpled under his hands. 

Draco watched as the Prince rooted around, giggling and tossing things out of the cupboard. “Messy thing, this Elf.” He muttered as he threw an entire roasting rack out behind him. Raising an eyebrow, Draco kicked the junk aside and moved closer so he could bend down and peer into the ‘room’. 

“Do you need light?”

Tossing a head over his shoulder, Mamba flashed a smile and went back to rummaging. “No, you may lumos if you need though.”

Draco tried not to shudder when Mamba’s eyes flickered, a halo of opal white blinking around his pupils. “That’s alright, I will wait.”

Mamba smiled laughingly at Draco. “No need, I found it.”

Contorting, Mamba twisted around and slid out from under the sink, hands clasped around a tarnished locket. “That’s it? The horcrux?”

Stepping closer, Mamba opened up his hands, showing the delicate filigree to Draco. “Do you recognize it?”

Peering closer, Draco couldn’t stifle the gasp that slipped out when the moonlight caught the carvings. Carvings that were mirrored on the Dark Prince’s face and body in tattoo. “Salazar Slytherin’s locket?”

“Yes. Can you feel it? The Dark Lord is here, in this locket.”

Closing his eyes, Draco reached out and wrapped his fingers around Mamba’s wrist, concentrating on the humming coming from the teen’s hands. “Yes.” He breathed the word out, caught up in the heavy power curling around his fingers. 

Mamba opened the locket with a twist of his fingers, humming happily when the power in the room took a breath. “Let me go, Little Dragon.”

Releasing his wrist, Draco stepped back and clasped his hands in front of himself. “What are you going to do with it?”

Eyes on the locket, Mamba’s fingers traced the hollow, pictureless center. “Do you know why I am so very fond of you Little Dragon?”

Shaking his head, Draco whispered a soft ‘no’, voice getting lost in the rush of power in the room.

“I climbed into your bed tonight, and you did not object. I took you on this little adventure, found a horcrux left behind from my darling father, and you have not questioned me once. Not my intention, not my motivation, not my knowledge. That is why I like you Draco. On either side of the war, you stand with me.” Peering up at Draco through his eyelashes, Mamba smiled at the entranced teen. The power swelled to an unbearable amount, pressing in at Draco from all sides. Locking eyes, Mamba lifted the locket to his mouth and sunk his teeth into the metal.

The room exploded with energy, the power _screamed_. Wind whipped around them as Mamba slurped noisily at the soul trapped inside the antique locket. Draco couldn’t look away from the intimidating figure of the Dark Prince. The tattoos that decorated the teen seemed to glow against his olive skin. A shot of arousal pulsed through him, from his throat to his groin. 

Gasping, Draco took a halting step toward Mamba, hands lifting out toward the teen. He should be embarrassed by his burgeoning erection, but all he felt was enthralled. Mamba was everything the Dark Lord was not. Attractive, creative and so innately powerful that magic itself seemed to turn toward him like metal to a magnet. 

Mamba pulled his teeth out and tipped his head back, pushing the locket into his mouth and swallowing it down, throat working like a snake. Draco held back a moan, the power in the room followed that locket down the teens throat like a black fog. Mamba closed his eyes, throat working for another minute before the room settled. 

Something had changed, Draco knew that as sure as he knew his own name. Mamba had been right, he never questioned the Prince, he never would. Something about the Dark Lord’s son inspired a loyalty in him he didn’t know existed. Moving closer, Draco stepped up in front of Mamba until they were pressed against each other. “Why…”

Blinking slowly, Mamba peered up at Draco, body vibrating. “I love my father, Draco, I love him deeply, completely, wholly. I love him so much that I want to consume him, keep him in me until we both perish.”

“Don’t you want him to come back?”

“I love my father, but he is blinded by his own close-mindedness.”

Tattooed arms snaked around his waist, sharp fingers scraping against his hips. “I want to destroy him, and consume him in the process. I would like you to help me find his corpse.”

Swallowing sharply, Draco tilted his head down so his forehead rested against Mamba’s. “You want his body? Why?”

Licking his lips, Mamba pressed closer still, hips align with Draco’s. “I want to _consume_ him, all of him. Not just his soul. Will you help me?”

Shivering, Draco licked his lips, aware of how Mamba’s eyes tracked the movement like a snake watching a mouse. “Yes my Prince.”

“You will follow me? Be with me as I consume my father? As I take his power?”

“Yes my Prince.”

“You will be at my side.” It was a statement, a declaration. A hint of Mamba’s natural power thrummed in the words, twisting around the teen’s mouth.

“Always my Prince.”

Humming tunelessly, Mamba pressed their lips together in reverence, the power sparking between them, a bond formed. Draco accepted the power, moaning into the kiss as the bond hooked its claws in his magic. Lips tight against Draco’s, Mamba smiled.

-oo00oo-

Bill Weasley as a man of few words. Growing up as he had, with six noisy siblings screaming for attention at every turn, Bill learned to fend for himself. To listen instead of speak, to watch and learn instead of do and stumble. His younger brother Charlie was a lot like him, more introspective, more thoughtful and patient than their baby siblings. Even Percy, with his nose up his own ass, still stumbled after the twins at every turn.

Rubbing his hand over his face, Bill scratched at the stubble on his cheek as he blearily sought out coffee in the dank kitchen of Grimmauld Place. All his years abroad taught him many things, one of which being that tea, even the strongest tea, had nothing on a stiff cup of coffee. 

Stretching his arms up over his head, Bill poked at the kettle, wand sparking it to life. Yawning, Bill spun and leant his hips back against the counter. Rubbing over his eyes, Bill peered around the dark kitchen, body going stiff with shock when he spotted the boys seated at the table. Mamba was in Dumbledore’s chair, back straight, inky cloak shrouding him like a shadow. Draco was on his right, identical cloak hiding his shoulders and chest. 

Bill watched them watch him as he made his coffee and took a seat to Mamba’s immediate left. The teens had tea in front of them, a pentacle drawn in what appeared to be charcoal sat between their mugs. Clearing his throat, Bill sipped his coffee for a moment before the curiosity nearly choked him. 

“Would either of you like something to eat?”

Mamba smiled, eyes locked serenely on Bill’s mouth, at his right, Draco straightened his shoulders, pale fingers curled around his cup and he spoke. “No, thank you Bill, we have already eaten.”

Raising an eyebrow, Bill didn’t notice Mamba move until his chair was yanked back and a warm body plopped down in his lap. A hand trapped his shout in his mouth, sharp fingernails digging into his cheek. Mamba pressed his knees tight against Bill’s hips, free hand plucking Bill’s wand away and dropping it on the table. Behind him, Draco stayed seated, calmly sipping his tea while eyeing Mamba with an unreadable look in his eyes. 

Bill sucked a sharp breath in through his nose, somewhere between Mamba getting up and pulling Bill’s chair back the teen had shed his cloak. The Dark Prince straddled his lap, completely naked, bare chest pressed lightly against Bill’s. Mamba leaned close, eyes sliding shut as he sniffed at Bill’s face and neck. 

Eyes flitting between Draco and the teen in his lap, Bill held his breath as the young man shifted, inching forward. “Darling little fledgling. You stink of trepidation. What fears you?”

Sniffing at his collar, Mamba licked his way across Bill’s jawline, knees digging painfully into Bill’s hips as his hand slid away from his mouth and circled his throat lightly. Bill keened, body humming as he whispered against the power of Mamba. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tilting his chin, Mamba pressed their cheeks together, breath ghosting over Bill’s ear, causing the older man to shudder. “Liar, liar. I can taste it on you. Stress.” Another lick tickled across his earlobe. “Sadness.” A huffing breath across his neck. “Frustration. You stink of it. Why?”

Something curled in Bill’s gut, twisting, churning against his magic. The wolf in him thrummed with excitement. “My family. They…”

“What love?”

Closing his eyes, Bill gave into the scent of the teen, head falling sideways, baring his neck to the younger man. “They won’t quit. I can’t take a piss without my mother standing at the door. I know they mean well, but I am nearly 30! I don’t need someone at my back, hounding me about being kidnapped, hounding me to find a wife!”

Narrow fingers ran down his scars, caressing the skin under his chin where the marks cut off. Opening his eyes, Bill watched as Draco stood from his seat, circling the end of the table to come up behind Bill’s chair. Pale hands came around and rested on his shoulders, Bill shuddered, body responding to the soft ministrations of the body in his lap and the hands on his shoulders. 

Mamba purred, eyes glowing. “What do _you_ want darling?”

Shaking, Bill’s hands came up and rested on the Prince’s hips. “I… I… I want freedom. From this house, this war, from expectation.”

Mamba rolled his hips, body sliding tighter against Bill’s lap, he pressed their foreheads together, lips ghosting just above Bill’s. “Then you shall have it.”

“What?”

“Freedom, little almost wolf, freedom is yours if you stay with me.”

“How? How can you give me that? How can you even promise it?”

“I am going to end the war, William Weasley.”

Eyes locked on the younger man’s, Bill lifted his body towards the warm teen in his lap. “How?”

“I am going to take the dark from the Death Eaters and the light from the Order of the Phoenix, and I am going to give magic back to the people and creatures it belongs to. That is your freedom, little almost.”

Mamba pressed down against Bill’s lap, body humming with power. Bill gasped. “What do you need me to do?”

“Stay with me. Follow me.”

“Yes my Prince.”

“You will be at my side.” Power and arousal shot through Bill like a spell, lighting him up from the inside. 

“Always my Prince.”

Shifting his weight, Mamba pressed his lips and magic against Bill, humming as the redhead surged up to meet him. 

-oo00oo-

Dawn brought James Potter to the kitchen, the bustle of cooking and the distinct noise that could only be the Weasley family had James smiling as he pushed his way into the room. Lily waved to him from her seat beside Severus while Molly, Percy and Ginny were already at the stove, cooking and dishing out food to the room full of people. As usual, James was the last to arrive, even Dumbledore was seated at the head of the table, heaping plate in front of him. 

Sirius waved him over to an empty seat beside Remus, a plate already in front of the empty spot, waiting for him. Swooping around the table, James dropped a kiss on the crown of Primrose, his daughter, and ruffling the hair of his son, Jimmy, before kissing his wife on the cheek and taking a seat beside his friends. At the farthest end of the table the young Malfoy sat with Bill, their heads together as the whispered a quiet conversation. Nudging Remus, James nodded his head toward the two and lifted a curious eyebrow. Remus just shrugged, shoving a cup of tea at James before reaching across Sirius to steal all the bacon from his plate.

Hollering, Sirius jumped up and snatched back his food, stuffing it all in his mouth when Remus tried to get it back. Laughing, James watched his friends, his 34 year old _adult_ friends, chase each other around the dinner table like school children. Unable to resist, James turned his attention back to the far end of the table, and the two men whispering to each other. 

Chancing a glance around, James stood and made his way around the table. Malfoy noticed first, he wrapped a hand around Bill’s wrist and silenced the older man with a look. They both watched James as he approached and James suddenly knew what it felt like to be watched by lions. Licking his lips, James took the seat beside Bill and smiled. “What are you two whispering about down here?”

Arching an eyebrow, Malfoy glanced at Bill for a moment before focusing fully on James. “We’re discussing Mamba.”

Pulling back in surprise, James set his hands on top of the table, eyeing the pair warily. “Wha...why?”

Bill twisted his arm, sliding it out of Malfoy’s grasp so he could clasp their hands together, fingers intertwining. Bill turned his head toward James, the angry flush on cheeks caused his werewolf scar to stand out. “We were trying to decide if it was cruel to keep him locked in the dungeon when we promised to trade comfort for information, or just dishonest.”

Frowning, James stared at their clasped hands as he thought it over. “I… I don’t know. He’s dangerous, Dumbledore is scared. We’re all scared! He belongs to the Dark Lord!”

Snarling, Malfoy leaned across the table, eyes cutting into James like ice. “He is a human being! He _belongs_ to no one!”

Reaching across with his free hand, Malfoy grabbed the front of James’ robes, with a tug James was sprawled halfway across the table, Malfoy’s face a few inches from his. The young teen stared at him for a minute, eyes searching. “It’s just like you people, believing that family equals ownership. It’s a very old family way. It’s funny that I find myself _surprised_ that I’m surprised to hear those words from you. After all, isn’t that against everything your muggle-blood wife stands for?”

Letting go, Malfoy leaned back in his chair for a second before standing up, dragging Bill with him. “Excuse us.”

James watched them go, an uncomfortable pit forming in his stomach. Malfoy wasn’t wrong, what James had said goes against every moral fibre of his being. Fear ruled him, fear for his wife, his family, his friends and the entire light side. Fear of what Mamba could mean to their side of the war, what he could mean for the dark side. Mamba was the Dark Lord’s son, born into a life of darkness and hatred. How could they ever consider trusting someone like him?

Leaning back, James folded his hands together on top of his stomach. It had been 16 years since they lost Harry, 13 years since his death, in that time James had learned to be more patient, it didn’t mean, however, that he was less impulsive when he was scared. He couldn’t survive losing another one of his children, he knew Lily couldn’t either. They almost lost themselves after Harry, if it hadn’t been for Jimmy, they may have never been able to move forward. 

Catching Albus’ eye, James waved his hand toward the door and stood, moving once Albus excused himself to follow. Albus met him at the top of the basement stairs, his blue eyes making James feel 16 all over again. “Albus, we need to talk about this Mamba situation.”

Grasping his beard, Albus nodded and waved his hand toward the stairs. “After you my boy.”

Ducking his head, James took off down the stairs, knowing Albus, despite his age, was on his heels. Once they reached the bottom, James waved a hand a Dung, who was playing guard again, and moved aside to let him head upstairs to eat and sleep. Casting a furtive glance down the hall toward the cells, James ran a nervous hand through his hair and turned to Albus. 

“Albus, what are we doing here? We made a deal with that boy, information for some freedoms. And yet, here we are.”

Reaching up, Albus slipped his forefinger and thumb under his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh. “You aren’t wrong James. I believe, in this instance, our guest will only be of further help to our cause. I… I let caution and fear overrule my reasoning.”

Reaching into his robes, Albus pulled out a circular scrap of iron. The item looked like metal vines twisting around itself into a halo, even from a yard away James could smell the magic on it. “This, my boy, is an Encampment.”

Rearing back, James lifted his wand in automatic defence, heart pounding. “Albus! What are you doing with that thing?”

“I fear it is the only way to protect us. Until we know for sure that Mamba means us no harm. There… there is no other way James. Unless we bind him, we cannot be sure of the safety of the children.”

Closing his eyes, James took a deep breath, warring with himself. Above all else, his children came first. Above morality, above right and wrong, the safety of his children would always be on top. If that meant using one of the darkest artifacts to come out of the Witch Burnings of the 18th century. The first Encampment had been forged by a squib born to a Pure Blood line. It had been forged using the iron pulled from the blood of 13 Witches, anointed with sage, for purification, and bathed in Holy Water to banish the Wizarding Old Gods. 

What Albus held in his hands was probably the only remaining Encampment not housed in the English Museum of Magical History. From what he remembered from History of Magic, 91 Witches and Wizards had been murdered to create 7 Encampments, one of which was on display. He had thought that the remaining 6 had all been destroyed, melted down and burned with Fiendfyre until only ash remained. Ash that now filled the Crystal Wand of Merlin that sat at the crest of the Founding Monument in the Museum.

Feeling sick to his stomach, James held out his hand to a confused Albus. “You need to let me do this Albus. If word of this ever gets out, you cannot be connected to it in any way. No one can know what you’ve done. You have to let me take this.”

“James…”

“No! No Albus! You are the leader of the light! The world looks to you for guidance. If it were to get out, somehow, that you were using an Encampment… Everything we worked for would be for naught. You have to let me do this for you.”

Albus looked proud as he handed off the collar, James felt like vomiting. “You press it against his chest, around his heart and recite the Binding of Witches.”

Nodding his head, James took the collar and turned his back on his long time friend. “You need to leave Albus. I will wait for 15 minutes. You need to be in a public place when I do this. Surrounded by people. And you will have to stay gone for 7 days while the Encampment takes hold.”

James felt a hand grasp his shoulder and he steeled himself to not jerk away. “I am very proud of you James. You are a good man.”

Bowing his head, James listened as Albus walked back up the stairs, heart heavy with what he was about to do. For his children, for Molly and Arthur’s children, for the hundreds of light wizarding children in England. He had to do this. If it meant their safety. 

Running his fingers over the engraved words, James pushed down the nausea inside of him. The Encampments were magical. When they had been created by the squib Terdale Potter, the man had knowingly used the only magic he had access too to create a magical item. 

Innate magic was in every living creature, even muggles. The religious muggles referred to it as a ‘soul’, that unaccountable percentage of living beings that cannot be defined by science or modern magic. It was what brought life to the living. It was the Earth, the Sun and the Moon. Innate magic was Old Magic. Terdale had known this and had used it to destroy the very people that he came from. Resentment was a funny thing. 

With a deep breath, James turned and walked down the hallway, stowing the collar in his robes as he went. He knew that Mamba would probably know he had it the moment he stepped into the room, but he wanted another moment as a man who believed in morals before he became a monster to protect his people. 

Mamba was standing at his cell door again, eyes closed as he rested his forehead against the bars. The serpentine tattoos that covered him from head to toe seemed to move beneath his skin in the flickering torchlight. James summoned a chair in front of the cage, letting himself sigh as he sank down into it. This was not how he had expected his day to go.

Looking up, he watched Mamba’s eyes trail over him. “Hello again Auror Potter. How are you faring this lovely morning?”

“Are you hungry?”

Smiling at his rudeness, Mamba leaned closer to the bars to peer at James. “I just so happen to be.”

“We can go to the kitchen after we discuss the terms of our agreement.”

“Our agreement?”

“Our deal, from last night. You give us information on the Dark Lord and his Horcruxes, and we give you limited, monitored freedoms.”

“Ah, yes, our deal. Well, as you can see, I have time. Let us discuss!”

Waving his wand, James summoned a simple chair in Mamba’s cell so the boy could sit, along with a cloak, for his own comfort more than anything. Mamba just smiled, wrapping the cloak around himself like a shroud before taking a seat with all the delicacy of an actual prince.

Lifting his wand to cast a contract spell, James summoned a roll of parchment and a QuickQuill to write the contract as it was spoken. “Your custody is in the hands of Sirius Black, do you agree to this?”

“Yes.”

Nodding his head, James crossed his legs and watched as Mamba mimicked his every move. “With Sirius as your magical guardian, you will live here, in Grimmauld Place, among the Order and with Draco Malfoy as a roommate, do you agree to this?”

“Yes.”

“You will be under strict curfew, you will attend all meetings you are summoned to, do you agree to this?”

“Yes.”

“You will follow direct orders from Sirius Black, for as long as they do not require you to cause bodily harm to yourself or to others, do you agree to this?”

“Yes.”

“Your magic will be bound to Grimmauld Place, you will be under the protection of the Fidelius Charm just as the house, Sirius Black will be your Secret Keeper, do you agree to this?”

“Yes.”

“You will not knowingly harm any child under this roof except in the case of self-defence, even then only within the realm of disarmament, do you agree to this?”

“Define ‘child’.”

Blinking, James furrowed his brow and peered thoughtfully at the teen. “Any person or persons under the age of legal majority in Wizarding England, id est anyone under the age of 17 years.”

“Understood. Yes.”

“You will be subject to the rules and restrictions set forward by your magical guardian Sirius Black, along with the leaders of the Order, id est Albus Dumbledore and James Potter to protect the Order and children from any acts seen as purposefully aggressive or potentially dangerous, do you agree to this?”

“Yes.”

“These are the terms to our contract. Within the parameters of this agreement you are bound, by magic and mind, to Sirius Black and the leaders of the Order, id est Albus Dumbledore and James Potter for twelve months from this date, June 22nd, 2005. Do you agree?”

“Yes.”

“So mote it be.”

“So mote it be.”

With a flash, the contract rolled itself away and vanished. Copies would be left with Sirius, James, Albus and the minister. Magic sparked the air for a moment, the contract spell completing and binding. Taking a deep breath, James stood and motioned for Mamba to do the same. Vanishing the chairs, James reached forward and touched his wand to the lock on the center of the cell door, watching as the bars vanished with a _pop_.

“Is it time to put that Encampment on me Auror Potter?”

Sucking in a sharp breath, James couldn’t stop himself from reaching for the artifact tucked away in his robes. “How did you…?”

Mamba stepped close, eyes alight in the dim chamber. “I could smell it the moment you walked in the room.”

With a wave, James vanished the cloak that he had summoned for the teen, leaving him bare once again. Forcing himself to look the boy in the eye, James pulled the Encampment from beneath his robes. “I, James Potter, see your magic as a threat unto the Order and the children housed within the walls of Grimmauld Place, as such I am using the means at my immediate disposal to neutralize the threat.”

Murmuring a full body bind, James watched as the teen went rigid, falling back with a painful thud. Hands shaking, James shifted and lowered himself to straddle the teens stomach so he could press the Encampment against the flesh above his heart. 

“We shall not suffer a Witch, evil takes your soul and makes you a slave to harm.  
We will not suffer a Witch, in your heart is only hate, we bind your soul.  
We will not suffer a Witch, Iron of Beelzebub, Smoke of Purification, Water of Nazareth we bind thee.  
We will not suffer a Witch, surround your heart and stop your evil.  
We will not suffer a Witch, with this instrument of Good you shall do no harm.  
We will not suffer a Witch, with this Encampment we bind you, we bind you from doing harm, against yourself and against other people.”

James pulled his hands back and watched the iron circlet glow molten red before melting into the chest of the teen. Trapped in his full body bind, the boy couldn’t even scream, closing his eyes, James waited for the Encampment to finish sealing off Mamba’s magic before breathlessly releasing him from the bind. 

Mamba shook beneath him, he was silent as he cried. Turning back, James stared down at the raw wound around the boy’s heart before looking up to see Mamba not, in fact, crying, but laughing. Staggering to his feet, James stumbled away until his back hit the dungeon wall. “Why are you laughing?”

Mamba climbed to his feet, body shuddering still with chuckles. “I am surprised Dear Auror, I did not think you would be able to go through with it.”

“With what?”

Moving close, Mamba pressed himself against James’ chest, body thrumming as it fought against the Encampment. “Binding me, of course. Or, do you not know what it really means? To Encamp a Wizard?”

“It… it binds your magic. You are a muggle until it’s removed.”

Placing his hands on either side of James’ shoulders, Mamba crowded close. “How, exactly, were you told Encampments were removed, darling?”

Stuttering, James tried to pull back from the teen without touching him. “You call the Encampment back. I call it back. Don’t I?”

Pressing his nose against the man’s collarbone, Mamba inhaled deeply, sniffing at him like a dog. “Oh honey, no. There is only one way to remove an Encampment.”

“H...how?”

Pressing his lips against James’ ear, Mamba hissed like a snake. “Burn the Witch at the stake, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No offence is meant at any point for any religious leanings. As this story deals with some information revolving around the Witch Trials there will be mentions of religious crimes and prejudices. Not all apples are Cortlands, not all religions or religious practices are the same. No personal offence meant.


	3. Can You Hear The Rumble?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prince adds to his collection.   
> Plans are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some overtures of incest. Mild descriptions of gore and sex.

James led Mamba out of the dungeon of Grimmauld Place, the air between them thick and heady. He and Albus needed to have a serious conversation, if what Mamba said is true, then the Hogwarts Headmaster had just stepped back and let James commit murder. Chancing a quick glance back at Mamba, James winced at the raw wound on the boys chest. 

James had shot a few healing spells at the Encampment, even trying to recall the binder in a touch of desperation. Through it all Mamba had smiled, body relaxed and seemingly unconcerned with the bloody circle burned into his chest. Guilt gnawed at his stomach with an uneasy force. Mamba, for all of his crimes and connections to the Dark, was just a teenager. 

Hatling at the landing atop the stairs, James turned toward his momentary charge and tried to look anywhere but at the wound around his heart. “I’ll lead you to the rooms you’ll share with Malfoy, Sirius will find you something to wear.”

With a fearfully serene smile, Mamba stepped up so he was toe to toe with the older man, chests pressed uncomfortably together. “No need Auror Potter, I know the way to Draco’s lodgings, and I am sure the darling boy will _assist_ me in _any_ way I need.”

Pressing a hand to James’ chest, just above his heart, Mamba trailed his eyes over the man’s body before turning and sauntering away. James felt the heat rise in his cheeks, the boy was still nude, his tattoos seemed to glow in the dim hall light. The guilty, hormonal part of him noticed the curve of the teen’s calves, the smooth dip in the small of his back, the stretch of his lithe shoulders. Tearing his eyes away, James took a deep breath before taking off to find Sirius. 

He found his friends in the library, loudly playing a game of chess, of which there seemed to be about 20 pieces too many scattered across the board. Sirius was pointing his wand at Remus’ chair, muttering curses under his breath as the other man tried to roll a set of die across the board. Laughing, James watched his friends as they scrambled around the board, Remus always looked years younger when he was smiling.   
Chess-A-Mess-Opoply was a silly game he, Sirius and Peter had invented in their 5th year when they were trying to distract Remus after a particularly bad full moon. James hated to interrupt them, this kind of jovial laughter was so rare these days, even after the fall of the Dark Lord. Waiting on the distraction portion of the game to end, James cleared his throat and smiled when both of his friends turned toward him. 

“Hey gents, having fun?”

Sirius waited for Remus to stand up before he flipped the board, scattering the pieces all across the library. “What’s up Prongs?”

“I’ve gotta discuss something with you two, can we go somewhere I can put up some wards?”

Glancing at each other, the other men nodded and followed James out of the library. The main study had been unofficially assigned as the Marauder Office after the three of them had destroyed the dining table in a heated argument. The room was nearly isolated from the rest of the house, it had once been Sirius’ father’s study, complete with a collection of pickled house elf fetuses and preserved bowtruckles. 

Throwing up silencing and privacy wards, James took a moment to activate the repulsion wards before turning to take a seat in the chair across from his friends. “Lads, what I’m gonna tell you has to stay in this room, no one else, Marauder Official only, yeah?”

Eyebrows raised, Remus and Sirius scooted closer, bodies leaning toward him. “I did something for Albus, something that I…”

Pausing, James dipped his head to hide the wetness in his eyes. He still couldn’t believe what Albus had tricked him into. 

“James?”

Glancing up over his glasses, James gave Remus a watery smile and held a hand up to stop Sirius from getting up. “Not yet, let me… let me tell you first, right?”

Clearing his throat roughly, James forced himself to lean back in his chair as he wiped his eyes on his sleeves. “Look, I’m not gonna hedge here, Albus planned on putting an Encampment on Mamba, but I told him it would be a bad idea for him to do it, what if it ever got leaked to the press? Imagine the outcry at the leader of the light doing that to another wizard, prisoner or no. So I told him I would do it. I didn’t know! I didn’t know you couldn’t take it off!”

“Oh, James.” Remus had a hand over his mouth, amber eyes wide and horrified. “No.”

Dropping his head in his hands, James didn’t try to stop the sob that ripped itself out of him. He felt arms wrap around him from either side, Remus had his forehead pressed against James’ cheek, Sirius was lower, head tucked against his ribs. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry.”

“James, it’s going to be alright. We will figure this out, I promise.” Remus had lifted his hand, long fingers stroking the nape of his neck the way he used to when they were kids and James had gotten shot down by Lily again. By his ribs, Sirius was muttering a calming spell, his words felt tangible, wrapping around the three of them like a warm cloak. 

“He’s just a kid thought Moons. And I’ve killed him!”

“Jamie, you didn’t know. We will find a way to get it off of him. C’mon love, up we get, let's get Paddy off the floor.” Hoisting James to his feet, Remus led them back to the couch and sat them down, James tucked between his friends tightly. “This situation is fucked up but not fucked. We will figure this out, just calm down a bit and we can talk about it.”

Taking a deep breath, James sagged against his friends and nodded tiredly. This entire day was turning out to be more stressful than it had any right to be, and it wasn’t even noon. “Okay, okay. What do we do?”

Rubbing a hand up and down his back, Remus seemed to consider his words before saying, calmly “Well, first off, what do we know about Encampments? And furthermore, what do we know about Albus? If he could trick you into this situation, because I do not believe that man didn’t know _exactly_ what he was doing, then it stands to reason that there is more about him that he is keeping from us. Furthermore, where in bloody hell did he even get an Encampment? You don’t just stumble across those on hikes through the bloody woods!”

Nodding, Sirius rubbed James’ knee as they both considered the other man’s words. “I’m sure my father had some books on Encampments tucked away in our library. We will have to check the attic though, as I put a lot of that stuff upstairs under tight wand when we started having our meetings here. As for Dumbledore, I hate to say it Prongs, but you’re the only one in this room who ever trusted that old bat.” 

Head jerking in surprise, James stared at Sirius for a beat before turning to Remus. “Really?” At the shorter man’s nod, James pulled back a little, upset. “Why didn’t you guys ever tell me this?”

Reaching out to take James’ hand in between both of his own, Remus sighed, eyes flickering to Sirius briefly before turning bodily towards James. “We know how much you’ve always looked up to Albus, we didn’t want to come between that. We never wanted to put you in a situation that forced you to choose, in _any_ way between Albus and us. The potential for strain on our friendship was too high for us to risk it. We never meant to keep you out of the loop, we just didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah Prongs, we didn’t want our distrust to cloud your sight of him. You have to know that if it had ever gotten to where we felt Dumbledore could risk you or the kids we would have clued you in.”

“I know you would’ve Siri, I’m just… How could you leave me out like this?! It’s bad enough that you all are, you know, without me, but now secrets too?”

Beside him, Remus had gone still. “What do you mean, us without you? James, are you jealous of Sirius and I?”

“Well, I mean, **no** I have Lily and the kids, but I just… I feel left behind, sometimes.”

Laughing, Sirius pounded him on the back. “You’re a moron Prongs. C’mon, let’s go look for those books.”

Embarrassed, James just nodded and took the easy way out of the awkward conversation they had stumbled into. “Yeah, let’s do an oath first though, to be safe.”

The three of them stood up, facing each other with grins. Clearing his throat, James shook his hands out and focused on his magic. “Alright, I’ll be the Focus. I, James ‘Prongs’ Potter, set forth an Oath of Secrecy, matters of Encampment, and lies by Albus ‘Headmaster’ Dumbledore, speak Agreement or Forget.”

Raw magic thrummed through him like a surge of lightning, sparking around his mouth. To his left, Sirius reached out and grabbed his hand in one of his own. “I, Sirius ‘Padfoot’ Black, speak Agreement, and accept the Oath of Secrecy.” Leaning forward, Sirius pressed his their closed mouths together, his magic drawing some of the power away from James when he moved back.

On his right, Remus grabbed his free hand. “I, Remus ‘Moony’ Lupin, speak Agreement, and accept the Oath of Secrecy.” He too pitched forward to press their lips together and draw some of the oath magic back with him. 

Sirius and Remus grabbed at each other’s free hands and in unison, magic pulsing through their mouths and throats, they sealed the oath. Three voices, fused with old magic, rang out. “So mote it be!”

-oo00oo-

Charlie tuned out the twins as they piled around him to sit at the table. Since the Weasleys and the Potters had moved into Grimmauld Place permanently, meals were a near mandatory affair. Lily Potter and Charlie’s younger brother Percy were already at the counter, throwing together a mass of sandwiches, while his own mother puttered around making lemonade. Platters were dumped onto the table, cups and plates summoned from the cupboards to stack neatly on either side of the trays. 

Dumbledore’s seat was empty, the elder wizard having taken his leave this morning in a rush of robes and magic. In his stead, James Potter would be taking the lead at all meetings, which, frankly, left Charlie feeling rather relaxed. Dumbledore was too much in scheme for him to be wholly comfortable with, and while James was heading down similar paths, he was still loads better. 

Shaking the cobwebs out of his head, Charlie stood to make himself a plate, eyes drifting toward the door as he did. He hadn’t seen Bill since this morning, and even then he had been completely caught up in his secretive conversation with the Malfoy boy. The noise in the kitchen steadily got louder as the rest of the house piled in and began filling their plates. The twins were charming their vegetables to dance around Primrose and Ginny, making the girls squeal and holler. 

With a sigh, Charlie sunk down into his chair and tucked into his lunch, trying to block out the commotion. Its why he always sat with Bill, the oldest Weasley child had sensitive hearing ever since his attack. Much like their resident werewolf, he always sat as far back as he could from the noise of the table, often casting noise buffering charms, something Charlie had never quite managed to master. Years of working with Dragons had affected his ability to filter sounds, often leaving him aggravated and achy after meals with the entire house. He had been to healers, had scar tissue removed and his ear drums repaired, but the damage was settling, becoming permanent. He’s been told on several occasions that he might very well loose most of his hearing by the time he reached 50. 

Muttering the Sound Soft charm under his breath, Charlie felt a spike of triumph when the volume in the room suddenly dropped. His self-pride, and his stomach, dropped when he looked up and noticed the entire room staring at the doorway. Turning, Charlie couldn’t help the choking noise that escaped him when he caught sight of Mamba, flanked by Bill and Malfoy, standing in the doorway. 

The Dark Prince was shrouded in a thick black cloak, hair curling around his ears and chin in soft black waves. Without the grime and gore, the teens striking good looks were even more captivating. Avada Kedavra eyes surveyed the room, sweeping across the room much like their namesake, pausing here and there on the people gathered. Charlie felt a bone chill swept through him when those eyes stopped on him, lingering slightly longer than they had on the others. 

The room remained silent as Mamba took a seat directly across from Dumbledore’s empty chair, Malfoy sat to his immediate left while Bill gathered up three plates of food and three goblets of water. At the counter, Lily Potter had a butcher's knife clasped in her fist, eyes wide with panic, beside her, Percy trembled. They watched as Mamba accepted his plate from Bill with a smile and began dissecting the sandwich, picking off the ham, cheese and bread before wrapping the loose vegetables with lettuce. Seated on either side of him, Malfoy and Billy copied him, discarding the meat, cheese and bread to make identical lettuce wraps. 

Molly, ever the mother, took a small, but determined, step toward the trio, eyeing the pile of discarded meat and cheese distastefully. “Do you not like ham and cheese? We have roast beef if you rather.”

Locking eyes with her, Mamba set his sandwich down, fingers dusting across the napkin he had draped across his lap. “Thank you for your consideration Mrs. Molly Weasley, but I prefer a raw diet.”

“Raw?”

“Uncooked, fresh from farm and animal.”

Lily dropped her knife, hand coming up to cover the disgusted curl of her lip. “You eat _raw_ meat?”

Turning his head slightly, Mamba locked eyes with familiar green. “Of course, though I do not eat pork on either hand. Intelligent animal, swine, more so than your common canine.”

Stuttering, Lily shook her head as she turned away from the heavy gaze of the younger man. Molly had no such qualms, hands on hips and feet planted on the floor, she attempted to glare down the teen. From across the table, Charlie sighed, he loved his mother, he did, but sometimes her overbearing nature was not as charming or helpful as she believed. 

“That cannot be healthy! Now listen here, you will eat proper food! Healthy food!”

Smile turning sharp, Mamba reached out and set his hands on Malfoy and Bill’s forearms, the touch keeping them from jumping to their feet. “Calm down lovelies, no need for upset.”

Bristling, Molly seemed to puff up in anger as she was ignored. “Excuse me! I’m speaking to you! Don’t you ignore me!”

Polishing off his lunch, Mamba sipped his water before dabbing his mouth with his napkin, nodding politely as Bill vanished his plate along with his own and Malfoy’s. Leaning over, Mamba spoke softly into Malfoy’s ear, fingers turning the blonde to face him so he could press a heated kiss to his lips before standing. Bending at the waist, Mamba repeated the gesture with Bill, seemingly oblivious to Molly’s sputtering. Standing tall, he ran his fingers along the back of Bill’s neck, doing the same to Malfoy as he sauntered away, cloak swirling around his ankles like a black smog. 

Charlie watched as Bill stood and walked around the table toward their mother, eyes narrowed. “He is not your child, mom, he can make his own choices. Particularly about what he chooses to eat, I’d thank you to remember that.”

Ignoring the dramatic wobble of Molly’s lip, Bill walked out of the room, stopping only to brush his hand across the back of Malfoy’s neck. The touch seemed to serve as a signal, Malfoy hopping up and striding around the table toward Charlie. Stopping at his shoulder, the blonde leant down and pressed his side against the older man, lips brushing feather soft against Charlie’s earlobe. “Come on Weasley, we have to talk.”

Without waiting for a response, Malfoy stalked out of the room, back rigid. With a cursory glance around the room, Charlie climbed to his feet and followed the. He followed him up to the third floor, where he knew Sirius and Remus’ room was, along with Malfoy’s and, and apparently, Mamba’s. 

When Charlie entered the bedroom, he couldn’t help the tremor that shot down his arms. Teenager or not, stories of Mamba had been told for nearly three years. Tales of his ruthlessness and proficiency with violence had lulled many naughty children to sleep over the years. 

The room looked like a palace dungeon, the black chandelier put off a low red glow, the candles charmed to burn burgundy, the smell of opium and charcoal hung thick and heavy in the air. A king sized bed sat, framed by narrow, floor to ceiling windows draped with black curtains. Mamba sat atop the bed, surrounded with pillows like a king, or a prince, on a throne. 

Bill was seated at the edge of the bed, book in his hands and wand setting by his hip. Stepping forward, Charlie jumped as the door swung shut behind him. Glancing back at him over his shoulder, Malfoy smirked at him for a moment before turning and crawling up the mattress until he was settled against Mamba’s side, feet twisting until they rested against Bill’s hip. The redhead turned and shot a playful smile at the other boy, hand lifting off his book to wrap around the teens ankle for a moment before turning back to his reading. 

Floundering, Charlie twisted his fingers together in nervousness, he took a tentative step forward, feet unsure under him. Mamba waved a hand, inviting Charlie to sit at the foot of the bed. Swallowing, Charlie forced down his nerves and gingerly took a seat at the edge of the mattress. 

“So glad you could join us darling Typhon.”

“Uh, Charlie, my name’s Charlie.”

Chuckling softly, Mamba wrapped an arm around Malfoy, hand stroking down his bicep. “Oh darling, you are precious.” Wiggling his body slightly, Mamba sat up, the robe that had covered him during dinner sliding down and off his chest, pooling in his lap. 

Charlie swallowed, eyes tracing the tattoos down, down the teen’s sternum, across his pectorals, over his abdomen before drifting up to stare openly at the gaping wound on his chest. Licking his lips, Charlie forced his eyes back up to the amused emerald gaze. “What, ah, what do you want? I mean, that was rude, what do you need? What can I do for you!?”

Rolling his eyes skyward, Charlie felt the flush of embarrassment sweep across his cheeks, with a groan, Charlie covered his eyes with a hand and tried to ignore the low chuckling he heard from Malfoy. He didn’t notice Mamba move until he felt the bed dip near his thigh, strong hands grabbed his hips and tugged hip back from the edge of the bed. Hand falling, Charlie lifted his chin in time to watch Mamba, a very nude Mamba, swing a leg over his hips and settle in his lap. 

“Sweet, sweet Typhon, a hundred heads and not a single clue, what shall I ever do with you?” Leaning close, Mamba nuzzled his nose against Charlie’s cheek, eyelashes brushing the bridge of his nose. 

Gasping, Charlie’s hands wrapped around the teen’s hips of their own volition, hips jerking up in an aborted thrust. _“Mamba.”_

“It is not so much what I need of you, darling dragon tamer, but what I can _do_ for you.” Slender, claw-tipped fingers curled around the hairs at the base of his skull, drawing a low moan out of him. “What can I do for you Charlie Weasley? What do you **crave**?”

The air in the room grew thick, and Charlie had never felt so uninhibited. Shoulders dropping, Charlie let go of his control, letting his hands roam wild across the scarred and tattooed back of the teen pressed against his lap. “I hate the control Dumbledore has on us.”

Lips skirted across his cheeks, over the tops of his ears, warm breath curling around him like magic. “I hate how much control my mother has over us, wants to have over us. I hate Lily Potter.”

“What do you want darling? What can I give you?”

Grabbing onto the hips in his lap, Charlie growled low in his throat, fingernails digging into soft skin as he jerked his hips, pulling the teen down against his erection. “I want the war to be over. I want the laws to change, the world to change. I want reform, actual reform.”

A slick tongue curled against his throat, Charlie moaned. “I want to be free, for Bill and Remus to be free. I want my dragons to be free. I want integration of muggleborns and better, more educated, protection from muggles.”

“And if I can give all of that to you?”

Eyes rolling, Charlie panted against the sweat slick neck of the teen, mouthing sloppy kisses up to the other man’s ear. “Can you?”

Pulling back, Mamba pressed a hand over the redhead’s heart, eyes lit with the eerie red glow of the room. “I will.”

Leaning forward, Charlie tried to press their lips together, the hand at his chest holding him just out of reach. “Will you follow me?”

“Yes my Prince.”

“Will you stay with me?”

“Yes my Prince.”

Leaning close, Mamba hovered just a hairsbreadth away, Charlie groaned desperately. “You will be at my side.”

“Always my Prince.”

Sharp canines flashed in the red candlelight before Mamba’s hand gave way to Charlie’s persistence and their lips crashed together. Magic coursed through him, the powder keg of raw magic that simmered just beneath the surface of Mamba’s skin burst into life beneath Charlie’s hands. 

Warm arms wrapped around him from behind as Malfoy, Draco, pressed his chest against Charlie’s firm back, nible fingers skirting over the clasp of his cloak. Bill was pressed against Mamba’s side, lips attached to the Prince’s neck, hand snaking around to bury in the teen’s lap. 

Groaning, Charlie tipped his head back to rest on Draco’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded as he watched Bill curl his fingers around Mamba’s erection. Pale hands snaked down his own chest, pushing his robe open to scratch at his ribs. Back arching, Charlie dug his fingers into Mamba’s hips, body jerking up. He should be disgusted, Bill was his brother, but the heady, overwhelming bonding magic consumed all doubts and washed them away with a steady throb of arousal. 

A hot mouth latched onto his jaw, Draco’s teeth scraped across his stubble as the blonde pulled his robe the rest of the way off. His magic thrummed under his skin, and in his core Charlie knew that Bill was more than his brother, just as Draco. The three of them were bound to Mamba, and through Mamba they were bound to each other. It was an old magic, uncontestable magic that would bind them tighter than any marriage. 

Leaning forward, Charlie latched his lips to the raw, circular wound surrounding Mamba’s heart. Teeth digging into the bloody flesh, Charlie tasted the wicked magic humming beneath the wound. Around him, Draco and Bill leaned down, heads knocking slightly as they latched onto the lesion from either side of Charlie. 

Together they tried to pull the magic out of the wound, the three of them clawing at the flesh on the Prince’s stomach, their magic skittering across the young man’s skin, crackling like fireworks. The opium smoke made their magic malleable, flexible, easy to direct to the wound they were tearing into. Beneath their careful hands and sharp teeth Mamba was writhing, hips jerking in Charlie’s lap. 

The magic wrapped around his heart pulsed, once, like a giant’s heart beating, Charlie, Draco and Bill were sent sprawling back, lips vibrating, magic rearing up inside of them like lightning. The torches in the room snuffed out, and for a moment, Charlie was sure he had gone completely deaf. Nearly jumping out of his skin when Mamba moaned, Charlie sat up and watched the Prince as he undulated on the bed, hips jerking. Sitting up on his heels, he watched as Draco crawled up and straddled the other teen, both crying out when he thrust their hips together. The wound on his chest was bloody and raw, nearly shimmering with the magic it trapped inside. 

 

-oo00oo-

Smoke curled toward the ceiling, the smell of sweat, sex and opium permeating the room. Charlie curled himself tighter around Mamba, sweat cooling on his skin, behind him, Draco was unfurling like a cat, back arching as he yawned. Mamba passed him the pipe with a smile, fingers trailing over his wrist as he took it. The ornate smoking tray sat on Bill’s lap, the lamp in the center sparking as the curse breaker poked at it with his wand. 

From his side, Draco sat up and turned toward Mamba, silver eyes glowing. “We need to find a way to get you to Hogwarts, your pool of options will be larger there.”

With a serene smile, Mamba stroked a hand down Bill’s back, drawing the older man’s attention to their conversation. “That, my darling dragon, may not be an option just yet. Rather, what we need, is to bring Hogwarts to us.”

Twisting, Charlie shifted himself up so he sat facing Mamba and Draco. “How do we do that?”

Draco climbed over the mound of pillows until he was behind Mamba, knees bracketing the slender teen. Mamba took the pipe back from Charlie, taking a long, slow drag as he considered the question. “We need put a little fright into all of the lovely little wizards and witches, hmm mayhaps a little mayhem?” 

Shifting, Charlie wrapped a hand around one of Mamba’s ankles, fingers moving over the tattoos thoughtfully. “You want to attack Hogwarts?”

“Oh no darling Typhon, not the castle.”

“You want… Hogsmeade?”

The wicked grin was answer enough and Charlie began to consider how the attack would benefit them. “Why not Diagon Alley?”

Snaking a hand sideways, Mamba wrapped long fingers around Bill’s jaw, turning the man toward him. Holding him just a hairsbreadth away from his lips, Bill growled softly. “Tell Charlie why Hogsmeade, fledgling.”

“Diagon Alley is too heavily warded after the last attack by the Dark Lord. Attacking Hogsmeade has two distinct advantages the first of which being location. Hogsmeade is less than 3 kilometers from Hogwarts grounds, leaving the suggestion that perhaps the school may not, in fact, be the safest place for children. The second, and most important, advantage is the Zabini's, the Longbottom’s, the Parkinson's and the Diggory’s. All of whom currently reside in the village.”

Wrapping his arms around Mamba’s waist, Draco leant forward, resting his chin on the Dark Prince’s shoulder. “It will force those three families into a corner, Dumbledore will do what Dumbledore always does, extend a hand of benevolence.”

Realization dawned on Charlie, he suddenly felt foolish. “They will move here, they will bring their children here.”

Snakelike, Mamba wiggled his hips and leant forward, opium smoke curling around his lips. “Exactly darling Typhon, and I must admit I am _rather_ excited to meet the young Neville and Cedric.”

Over his shoulder, Draco laughed. The smoke felt heavy, the smell of it making Charlie feel lethargic. “If we fill the house, and get more people on our side, then we will be able to send more people off to find the Horcruxes. How are we going to get your father’s body though? It’s at the ministry.”

“I believe it is high time you and fledgling introduced me to your lovely brothers, I have always wanted a matching set.”

-oo00oo-

“Mate I don’t think you do it that way.”

The girls tittered behind him, Ron’s gruff voice already making Jimmy scowl. It was bad enough he was stuck in Uncle Padfoot’s house with the _entire_ Weasley clan, did the youngest two really have to follow him around too? He’d been trying to master the Contentment Charm for two days, it had been in Magical Relationships and he was sure it would get him extra credit on his summer essays for Flitwick if he could just get _one bloody minute_ to himself. 

Slamming his book shut, Jimmy glared up at the older teen, teeth grinding. “Yes, Ron, I know that. Thank you for telling me.”

Ron smiled unapologetically. “Just saying mate.”

“You’re not my mate, Ron, so kindly bugger off.”

Smile dropping, Ron crossed his, considerably bulky, arms. “Rude man. Look, we’re all stuck here, and it’s only gonna get worse if what my brothers say is true. Might as well be friendly.”

“Wait, what?”

“What what?”

“What do you mean ‘worse’? What happened?”

Confusion clearing, Ron actually looked sad as he sat down across from Jimmy. In the far corner his sister and Ginny were still giggling, heads together as they poured over a magazine.

“There was an attack on Hogsmeade Village. Couple of people were really hurt, no one died, but a few families got scared. So, like, Neville and his parents and Diggory and his parents are moving into Grimmauld this afternoon. I think the Parkinson’s and Zabini’s are coming as well.”

Slumping, Jimmy groaned. “Really? Like we don’t have enough people taking up space here already!”

Frowning, Ron reached out and boxed Jimmy around the ears. 

“Ow! Hey! What’re doing?”

Shoving him, Ron stood, body stretching up over Jimmy like a tree trunk. At 16, Ron was taller than even his oldest brother and with shoulders wider than the twins standing side by side, it made for a very intimidating sight. “Grow up mate.”

Rubbing at his head, Jimmy tried his best to not look scared as he stared up at the redhead. “What? What’d I do?”

“People lost their homes man, some people got hurt. We got lucky that this was a strategic attack and not an actual move on our people.”

Confused, Jimmy set his book down and stood up from his chair. “Wait, how do you know its strategic?”

“Location. Think about it man, right by the school, a few families with children. It’s all about presenting a potential target. Who ever attacked wants people uneasy, wants them to know that they are considering attacking Hogwarts. Dumbledore is already out there trying to reassure people that he is pulling no punches with safety this year. I bet he will be placing people all over the castle this year, aurors, Order members.” 

“But, the war’s over. I mean, the Dark Lord is dead. We won, didn’t we?”

“Ah, sometimes I forget how much younger you are, with you being tall like your dad and smart like your mom.” Running a hand down his face, Ron looked much older, tired, like the Order members often did. “The war isn’t over just ‘cause one guy died. There is still a cause and people that think it’s worth fighting for. And Fred and George told me that they think the Dark Lord might have had contingency plans in case of his death. Not to mention the Dark Prince, who is practically an unknown. There are a lot of components in war mate, a lot of people and opinions that don’t just disappear.”

“I, ah, never thought of that.”

With a smile, Ron reached out and patted Jimmy on the shoulder, nearly making the shorter teen buckle under the strength of his hand. “You shouldn’t have to, I’ve only got a year left before I go into the Auror Academy, you’re not even 15 yet, you’ve got more important things than a war to think about.”

Ruffling Jimmy’s hair, Ron left the room with a smile, the girls in the corner didn’t even look up as the door swung shut behind him. Glancing down at his book, Jimmy frowned at it before turning and following Ron out of the room. 

Ron didn’t used to be as clever as he was now. It had taken his father nearly dying 3 years ago, and his baby sister the year before that, for him to take school more seriously. Now he was in the top 15 of his class, something Mrs. Weasley took great pride in boasting about to anyone who would stand still. Ron was also Head Boy next year along with being head of the Gryffindor chess team and dueling club. He even made time for Quidditch Captain. It was upsetting, having him in the house. Ron was everything his parents had hoped Harry would have been, had he lived, and to have him here, vibrant and clever, it made it harder for James to look at quiet, bookish Jimmy with anything other than sadness. 

Logically, Jimmy knew his parents loved him. They told him so every day, several times a day. They also told him how proud they were of them, they never missed his chess games or class debates, they always hung his year end grades up on the ice box at home. However, Jimmy knew that sometimes, when he was bedraggled and his hair was messy and his glasses were crooked and he looked more like his dad than his mom, his parents would look at him and see, just for a moment, the son they had lost. Though the words were never spoken, Jimmy knew that his parents had both been a little disappointed that he had been sorted into Ravenclaw. He knew that his dad was upset at his refusal to play, or even try to play, Quidditch. 

Harry was a lot to live up to. He was a perfect child because he had never actually _been_ a child. Having died so young, all his parents remembered of him were fond memories. Harry had been a gorgeous baby, his picture was framed on the mantle below the large family portrait in the sitting room. He had inherited their mother’s stunning green eyes and pale skin along with their father’s inky black hair. Had he lived, he would have grown into a handsome man. 

Shaking his head, Jimmy forced himself to focus on the task at hand as he continued to search for his uncle. Padfoot was his favorite person in the entire world. They were nothing alike and that was exactly what endeared him to the older man. Remus was great in his own way, a little more reserved and timid, and his parents were always supportive, but Padfoot wasn’t his dad. Padfoot was who he went to when he had a crush on Luna Lovegood. He was the one who always dropped everything to help him with homework or practicing his debates. He liked to imagine Harry would have been a lot like Padfoot, had things been different. 

Shaking his head, Jimmy pushed all thoughts of his brother to the back of his mind. He found Uncle Padfoot in the backyard with his dad and Uncle Moony. Frowning, Jimmy watched them whisper to each other for a minute before his dad noticed him. “Hey kiddo, what’s flying?”

Rolling his eyes, Jimmy couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face at how ridiculously dorky his dad was. On either side of his dad, Sirius was pulling faces and Remus was spelling his robes pink, making Jimmy laugh. “Nothing much Dad, just looking for Uncle Padfoot, I wanted a second set of eyes on my History essay before I put it away.”

Sticking his tongue out at the other men, Padfoot pressed a slobbery kiss to Remus’ cheek before bounding away. “Yeah, bye losers? I’m needed elsewhere!” Throwing an arm around Jimmy’s shoulders, Sirius steered them back into the house with a jubilant smile. “Come Jim! Let us retire to the Library!”

-oo00oo-


	4. (Can You Hear The Rumble) That's Calling?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New friends, and new reasons are discovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is very important at this point that you read **all** of the tags and warnings for this story. If any of them, and I do mean **any** , bother you then Chapter 3 is perhaps where you should end your journey. No specific warnings will be given from this point on. 
> 
> For the rest-Enjoy!

-oo00oo-

“As much as we appreciate your consideration,”

“And we do appreciate your consideration.”

“Very much so, very thoughtful of you.”

“Yes, thoughtful. However,”

“We must decline, not for lack of want we assure you!”

“Because, trust us your Princliness, we _really_ want to.”

“But, see, the thing is,”

“What happened was, well, it’s a little…”

“Complicated!”

“Yes! Exactly! It’s complicated! You see,”

“What happened was, well, embarrassing really.”

“You see, we may have been banned from the Ministry.”

“Well, permabanned is perhaps more accurate.”

“Yes, permabanned, the Minister is not fond of us.”

“Not even a little bit.”

“So you see, your most lovely highness,”

“While we would _love_ to help,”

“And we do mean love.”

“We cannot.”

“Our hands are tied,”

“And not in the sexy bedroom eyes way you seem greatly capable of.”

“Though we would very much like to explore the depths of that particular look at another date.”

“Perhaps with actual ties?”

Mamba smiled, green eyes glowing in the dim room. Fred felt his breath catch in his throat at the look, saliva pooling in his mouth. A sharp jolt of lust ran through his gut as George fidgeted beside him, hand snaking sideways to grab at the hem of his sleeve. George felt lightheaded, the smoke in the room making him feel sleepy and charged all at once-like he did when he went too long without sleep. The air was thick, humming loud with power and Mamba was sprawled out on his bed like a king, Malfoy curled at his side. 

Charlie and Bill had found them in the library earlier, researching portkeys. Their brothers had promised them a much more interesting experience, along with a potentially invigorating conversation. After, not much at all, consideration, Fred and George had agreed to follow. They had been watching Mamba over the past few days, intrigued by his curse scarring and ritualistic tattoos. The fact that the little snake had managed to ensnare both of their older, and wiser, brothers had also not gone without notice from them. They had, trustingly, followed Bill and Charlie up, up into the dark room where the snake had been hiding.

The Dark Prince wasn’t exactly what they had thought he would be. All of the stories and rumors had painted him in a terrifying light. An uncompromising, unreasonable powerhouse of terror, if you will. It seemed that once again Dumbledore had painted their ‘enemy’ in a less than flattering light to inspire fear in the Order. They were thankful for the discussion they had with Bill all those months ago, when they were being considered for the Order. It hadn’t been easy, telling their brother about their thoughts on the war, on Dumbledore, but they were glad it was a conversation they followed through with. Particularly now, in the face of what was clearly old binding magic branded onto the chest of their ‘guest’. 

If this was how the Order treated their cooperative prisoners, they shuddered to think of how they handled the ones who struggled. George shifted slightly, eyes flickering down to the ring around the Dark Prince’s heart before landing on Fred. Neither twin spoke, waiting instead for any sign of discord from the teen before them. 

Mamba moved, catching the attention of the twins. They watched as the teen slid down the bed, snakelike in his fluidity. Settling at the edge of the bed, Mamba’s mouth twisted into a saccharine smile, eyes flickering in the low candlelight. “My darling Dioscuri, I am pleased that you take favor in my asking, though I am disappointed you are unable help me in this matter I am sure we will find many more ventures for your assist. “

Reaching forward, Mamba cupped their cheeks in his hands, talons scratching against their shuddering jaws, smile turning wicked. “Now, about those ties.”

-oo00oo-

Arthur smiled, arm wrapped jovially around his son as they headed toward the elevator. The Ministry was mostly empty at this time of day, late in the evening the lights were dim, half snuffed out. A few low level aurors milled about, rolls of parchment piled in their hands. With The Dark Lord gone there was a lot of paperwork to be done, laws and regulations that needed review. Percy had such a stack in his hands, fingers clutching tightly around the scrolls. 

“Just around here kiddo!” Leading Percy around a tight corner, Arthur led him through a warded set of doors, smiling again when they flashed a soothing white behind them. With a flick of his wand, he locked and silenced the door, applying a repelling charm just for security- they couldn’t risk interruption. Turning, Arthur’s smile dropped, suddenly breathless as he watched Percy remove his shoes and drop his robe to the floor, already nude underneath. He watched as the flesh seemed to melt from Percy’s naked body, pale, freckled skin giving away to nearly translucent white, tattoo anointed skin. Red hair curled down, darkening to a deep, nearly blue, black. With a blink, brown eyes became poisonous green. 

Rolling his shoulders, Arthur let his glamour drop, body willowing out, pudgy stomach and arms giving away to hard lines. With a clench of his jaw, Draco shot a smirk at Mamba, steel grey eyes glittering behind glasses. “We should have about three hours before the guard comes down, Bill said they were keeping him in the preservation cabinet.”

Reaching out, Mamba grabbed one of Draco’s hands, tugging him gently toward the far wall. Magic was heaped on the doors tucked into the wall, freezing, stasis, preservation and longevity charms making the air around them stuffy and tight. Mamba ran a finger down the seam between the two doors, cutting through the amalgamation of spells as easy as a toddler tore tissue paper. When the final spell dropped the air around them Draco felt like gasping, the difference in the air was palpable. 

Mamba released Draco and turned, hands curling around the knobs “Come my darling Dragon, let us release Father from this tomb.”

Mamba opened the door, a fresh, more powerful set of spells swamping them. Warding, repulsion, and guarding charms all meant to protect the body inside. Draco stepped up, hand seeking out Mamba’s own so they could dismantle the new onslaught of charms together.

“Close your eyes darling Dragon, listen, I know you can feel the magic, but can you hear it? Taste it?”

Rolling his head back, Draco screwed his eyes shut, focusing on the open cabinet, on the corpse inside. The magic pressed down on his shoulders, pressed against his ribs and spine. After a moment, it began humming, singing to him in a low timbre, a million voices vibrating in his head. Gasping, Draco clenched Mamba’s hand in his own, with his mouth hanging open he could tasted the dusty, gritty, dirty flavor of the charms on his tongue. 

Wrenching his eyes open, Draco whipped his head toward Mamba, body leaning toward him to press a fevered kiss to the Prince’s amused smirk. “I can taste it.” He was muttering between quick, insistent presses of their lips. “I can hear it.” With a final press, Draco drew away, gasping. “Oh Gods, is it like this for you all the time?”

Mamba’s smirk stretched into an almost sweet smile, pride in his expression as he wrapped his free hand around the back of Draco’s neck. He pulled the taller boy to him, pressing their foreheads together so they could breathe the taste of magic between them. Mamba’s magic was sulfur, fire, lightning and more alluring than the finest foods. The hum of magic that thrummed through his body like a steady, rolling drumbeat struck Draco like a roll of thunder- euphoric and erotic in a way he didn’t know was possible. 

“As it will be for you my darling Dragon. Are you ready?”

Tilting, Draco stole another kiss before murmuring a soft ‘yes’. Mamba licked his lips, sharp unguis scraping at the nape of Draco’s neck briefly before he turned back to the open door. “Find the magic that tastes like mud darling, but do not be fooled by the dirt.”

Mimicking Mamba, Draco licked his lips and closed his eyes again, focusing, pushing his magic forward like a hand to tug and strum at the crossstitch of spells before him. The taste of gravel passed, grass, then the trickster dirt before he felt the slick, wet sludge of mud coat his tongue. _”There!”_

“Wonderful work darling, now take it in your magic, taut like a bow string, and force your will through it.”

Brow furrowing in concentration, Draco felt a bead of sweat roll down his spine, he forced his magic to shift, grasping at the mud magic was like grabbing fistfulls of actual mud. The hum of it squelched when he got his grip in it, it seemed to squeal as he ‘pulled’ it taut. Drawing a deep breath, Draco pushed his shoulders back, dropping Mamba’s hand to thrust both arms forward, slamming into the spell like a battering ram. The spell screamed, shattering to the ground and gone before it hit the ground. 

Hands dropping, Draco panted, feeling like he ran the length of a Quidditch field with lead weights tied to his ankles. Through the exhaustion, he could feel his own magic flexing, writhing in elation. “I did it!”

He felt Prince’s fingers scrape over his scalp, guiding his head toward him to press a rejuvenating kiss to his lips. Mamba’s magic fluttering like wings through him, giving him strength. “I am so very proud of you my darling Dragon. You are growing, blossoming, and soon you will unfurl into a truly frightening visage. I shiver with the anticipation of it.”

Smiling, Draco stood tall, pride stiffening his spine. “I’m ready to do it again.”

Mamba smiled, wicked and wonderful, and so breathtakingly beautiful. Power sat around his shoulders like a cloak, and Draco could finally see it, see the inky blackness of it, hear the the wild pounding, taste the lightning. Reaching for his hand, Draco turned back toward the door and let his magic pool in his gut. 

Together they tore through the magic, piece by piece Mamba helped Draco seek and crumble each spell, murmuring softly what each one was as Draco took it in hand. It took minutes but it felt like hours, his magic growing more competent and fluid with each one. Mamba kept him going, his own magic filtering through their joined hands, hot and jolting. 

When the last spell fell, Mamba lifted his free hand to his mouth, arm twisting so he could sink his teeth into the flesh of his wrist. Draco watched as he lapped at his own blood for a moment before turning toward the blonde, arm stretching up, offering. “Drink, my love.”

Dropping his hold on the Prince’s hand, Draco dipped his head and latched onto the open wound without hesitation. For Mamba he would leap into fire without ever questioning why. He would kill indiscriminately, take without guilt and destroy the world if asked. Once, he would have been concerned at his complete devotion to another person, Dark Prince or no, but with each passing day he felt himself entwining with Mamba more and more firmly. And through him, the others. He could taste the others, and himself, in Mamba’s blood. The flavor of each of the bonded distinct, each one lovingly inviting and enthralling. 

Draco drank his fill before pulling back enough to lap at the wound, focusing on his tongue and magic to heal the gash. The magic seared over his tastebuds before sparking across Mamba’s wrist, the cut sealing and fading in seconds. “Thank you my Prince.”

Hand twisting, Mamba brushed his fingertips over the arch of Draco’s cheek before turning back to the cabinet. Together they removed the body of Lord Voldemort , hands moving respectfully, their magic sizzled around them but remained in wait while they worked. Somethings were to be done by hand, his mother had always scolded him, magic wasn’t a right, it was a gift of the Gods, wasting it was disrespectful. Shaking the ghost of his mother’s voice out of his head, he grunted as they moved the body to the observation table in the center of the room. The Dark Lord was nude, body feeling and smelling freshly dead, no stench of rot or decay, no signs of decomposition.

The Dark Lord had been tall, nearly seven foot, more than a head taller than most other men. His shoulders were broad, chest wide but reedy, ribs sharp and waist razor thin. Mamba was focused on the body of his father, he had gone still, shoulders thrown back, jaw locked, an expression of longing so profound on his face that Draco felt it in his own chest. 

Mamba reached out, hands shaking, and latched onto his father’s face, fingers digging into the flesh of his cheeks. Draco watched as the Dark Prince lean over the body of his father, hands steady now as they relaxed and ran along the Lord’s cheekbones and lips, reverence on his face. 

“Oh Father, my beloved. Look where this arrogance has gotten you.” Stretching, Mamba rested his forehead against his father’s, eyes sliding shut. “I will repair this world you and Albus have torn apart, I will begin anew a dawn of glorious purpose.” 

Pulling back, Mamba traced a finger down the slope of his father’s nose, across his philtrum and over the seam of his lips before leaning down and pressing his mouth to the Dark Lord’s. Draco watched as Mamba twisted his head, lips pulling back into a snarl as his kiss gave way to a vicious bite, teeth tearing into the flesh of the corpse. Mamba moaned, body shuddering as he began to climb up onto table, his naked thighs bracketing the narrow hips of The Dark Lord, the body bent, back arching forward under the pull of Mamba’s hands. 

Breath hitching, Draco shifted, hands curling in the material of the robe around his waist. Mamba was erect, body rigid with arousal and raw magic, the air swollen, pregnant with power. The Encampment buried in Mamba’s chest bled sluggishly, blood nearly black from the poison of the magic attempting to bind the power that ran through the Dark Prince’s veins. 

Draco felt his body responding to the Prince, heat pooling in his belly, an uncomfortably hard jolt of arousal making him lightheaded. Prince rolled his hips, back arching, he leaned back on his heels, jaw working as he chewed the lips he had torn from the Dark Lord. Moaning, Prince threw his head back, blood rolling down his chin as he swallowed the flesh in his mouth. Licking his lips, Prince locked his eyes on Draco, the magic in the room was thrumming, power lifting the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Come darling Dracon, feast with me.”

Groaning, Draco shed his robe and rushed forward, heart pounding as he clambered up onto the table, straddling the body of the Dark Lord behind Prince, chest pressing flush against his back as Mamba bent to rip away at the flesh of the bare throat in front of him. Mamba jerked his hips, pressing back against Draco’s arousal as he twisted to slam their lips together, tongue pushing blood and flesh into Draco’s waiting mouth. 

Reaching around, Draco buried his hands in Mamba’s lap, pulling his head back just enough to chew, lips grazing Prince’s as he did. The power in the room throbbed, a low bass vibrating in Draco’s ears- the crescendo swelling until it reached a deafening fortissimo. 

Pressing forward, Draco rocked his hips against Mamba, fingers tightening their hold. Mamba jerked in his hands, his own fingers, claw-like, digging into the soft flesh of Voldemort’s stomach. “Can you taste it?” Mamba murmured the words against Draco’s lips, the words vibrated with magic. “Can you taste his soul?”

“Gods, yes.” Opening his mouth, Draco snatched at the flesh Mamba held out to him, jaw working frantically as he watched Mamba shovel fistfulls of meat and blood into his own mouth. “It’s… Oh Gods, it’s incredible.”

Rutting forward, Draco felt himself drowning, consumed by the power and fire in the room. Jerking, desperate, Draco thrust harder, body shuddering. _”More!”_

Mamba moaned, high and desperate and full of power as he sunk his fingers further and further into the soft flesh. Draco watched, enthralled, as the Dark Prince twisted his hand and buried his entire forearm into the body of his father, body tilting forward while he sought out the long still heart. With a groan, Mamba jerked back, ripping the organ free in one swift, blinding moment. Lifting the heart, Mamba rolled magic, lightning, down his arm and grinned, swift and vicious, and the heart began beating in his hand. 

“Oh my beloved,  
I taste of your flesh  
to take in your body  
I drink of your blood,  
to take in your power  
I devour your heart  
to claim your soul!”

Cupping both hands around the pulsating heart, Mamba licked his lips and sunk his teeth into the organ, animalistic growl rolling out of him and vibrating through Draco. He watched Mamba consume the heart, hips rocking forward of their own volition. He lifted a hand away from its grasp on Mamba long enough to gather a handful of torn flesh to chew before returning it, bloody, to Mamba’s lap. The blood made it so much easier to move his hands that he continued to reach forward to scoop more blood in his fingers, hand sliding back around to sink two bloody fingers into Mamba as the brunette moaned, mouth full and blood spilling down his chin. 

Draco twisted his hands, leaning forward to lick at the heart blood on Mamba’s face. The drumming power in the room was swelling higher, jerking through Draco’s body like a giant’s heartbeat. Draco sunk his teeth into Mamba’s neck, suckling at the blood that welled forward, he tasted a thunderstorm.

Mamba pushed the last pieces of heart into his mouth, hips jerking back onto Draco’s fingers and rolling forward into his hand. The drumming grew in forte, swelling around them before cracking, like thunder, Draco gasped around Mamba’s neck as he felt the first drop of rain. Lifting his head, Draco tilted back and watched as blood magic, like rain, fell from the sky.

Writhing in his hands, power thrumming through him, Mamba began to laugh. Draco watched him in awe as great horns burst from his temples, curving forward and then back like a rams. Draco gasped, arms burning, fire lit across his skin as he moved to watch the feathers, black as night, erupt from the flesh of his arms. The pain was grounding, he could feel each one burst forward, the power and magic inside of him swelling. Elated, he pulled his fingers free and rocked forward, sinking himself into Mamba with a full body laugh. 

Mamba threw his arms wide, claws shining red with blood as he lifted his hands up toward the ceiling, blood magic soaking them both. Draco lifted his hands to grab at Mamba’s waist, fingernails tearing at the flesh as he jerked forward. The Dark Prince arched against him, head dropping back onto his shoulder, hands lifted to gather the falling magic. 

Together they moaned, bodies moving in sync, rolling and jerking. Draco tipped his head back, mouth gaping to catch the blood magic on his tongue. Thunder cracked again, lightning, green and poisonous, flashed across ceiling, fracturing like spiderwebs around them. Draco gasped, body going taut as Mamba laughed again, he jerked his hips, groaning. Thunder rolled again, and on the second shock of lightning, Draco gave in, hips slamming forward, releasing into Mamba. The Dark Prince laughed as Draco lifted his arms up to grab at his wrists, head tilting forward to watch him tumble after, seed spilling forward onto the corpse of the Dark Lord. 

-oo00oo-

Cedric Diggory had lived his life on a pedestal since his birth. His mother had nearly died in childbirth, making it nigh impossible for his parents to conceive a second child, as such, Cedric had lived under the weight of expectation. His father expected Cedric to be everything he hadn’t. While Amos had failed at sports, Cedric was expected to excel, where Amos scraped by with average test scores, Cedric was expected top marks, top of class. He was expected to have a girl on his arm, charming and pretty and different every month. He was expected to be popular, with scores of friends and the praise of his teachers. 

Through it all, through the crippling weight of the pressure on his shoulders, Cedric had succeeded. Top of his class, captain of his Quidditch team, captain of his History Buffs club, popular with each house and with the girls, all of whom he kept in good rapport. The success was, however, not without consequence. Each year there was more difficult coursework, advanced and private studies with his professors. Quidditch, once a joy, had become a lead weight around his neck- dragging him down all the to his graduation. 

The friends he had, dozens in each house, were only slightly more than acquaintances, he had no one in confidence. All of the girls he had dated, respectfully, were distant but polite, he always made sure to choose carefully, knowing that each relationship had an expected expiration date. Every year the noose around his neck got a little tighter, pulled a little harder, it was all he could do to keep from crumbling. 

He felt wild, untamed, his unbound magic pressing down on every crack in his armour. His father had forbid him from doing his Call, kept him ignorant of the choice for as long as he could. Amos, like most ‘light’ wizards, believed The Call was another tie to ‘dark’ magic. It was a group of sadly like minded people who refused to believe that they, not the purebloods, were the ones killing magic. Wizards who refused The Call remained unchecked, their magic fluctuated in a perpetual state of puberty as it sought to find a grounding source. The lack of anchor tugged at Cedric like a scab, it made him feel itchy all over, raw and unchecked, constantly teetering on the edge of an explosion. 

Sighing, Cedric pulled another book off the the Black Family Library shelf for Wizarding History, the stack in his arms teetering dangerously with the added weight. His summer research was edging on overwhelming, the apprenticeship under Professor Binns weighed heavy on him. His father had gotten him the job, without ever consulting Cedric about what he wanted to do. Dumbledore had been all too pleased to keep the popular Hufflepuff in his clutches and it had left him floundering to find a way out of it. 

The American Magical wars and histories were poorly researched in most of the books he had managed to find before he graduated out of Hogwarts last year, the school library was woefully lacking in cultural diversity. He was optimistic that the Black Family’s infamous library would be a little more well researched. Dropping the books onto his commandeered table with a satisfying _’smack’_ , Cedric dropped heavily down into his chair and picked up his fountain pen- muggles had some truly ingenious inventions. 

Snagging a book off the top, Cedric skimmed the index before flipping it open, eyes already bleary. Thankfully there seemed to be a large section on American History, finally! Flipping through, Cedric felt some of the stress slide off his shoulders, he knew Binns was assigning him purposefully difficult topics, the old ghost didn’t want to give up his teaching job. However, Cedric wes nothing if not stubborn, and if he was going to be forced into a job he hated, in a field that bored him to tears, than he was damn well going to do an exceptional job!

_’Centralia, Pennsylvania; The Fire War  
In 1962, in what Non-Magical residents believe to be a natural phenomenon, The Fire War broke out between the WAMACM (Wizards against magical animal cruelty and misuse) and The Gator Dragon Poachers. In what is cited as the most destructive moment in American Wizarding History The Gator Dra…’_

A hand came slamming down on the paragraph he was reading, the resounding ‘thwack’ echoing in the mostly empty library. Cedric jerked back, eyes wide as he stared at the scarred hand on his book. Blinking slowly, he followed the hand up, over thick forearms and compact muscles, past the corded neck to the amused face of Bill Weasley. 

With a nervous swallow, Cedric blinked again a perplexed “What?” tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop it. 

Bill chuckled softly, smiling down at him in a way that made his blue eyes shine in the low candlelight of the library. Cedric felt sweat trickle down his back, heart thudding low and steady in his chest. He wondered if Bill could hear it, being mostly Werewolf as he was. Lifting his hands, he let Bill tug the book away as he dropped down into the chair across from Cedric. 

“American history? ‘The Fire War of Centralia still holds the highest mortality rate of any event previously recorded in American Wizarding history- with the standing death toll at 1,912…’ Wow, this is depressing.”

The grin Bill sent him shot through Cedric’s gut like fire, burning slow in his belly. Bill always smelled like rain on asphalt, wild and summery and everything Cedric couldn’t be. Smiling nervously, Cedric pushed a hand back through his hair and pulled his shoulders back, Bill was _tall_. 

“It is, a little, but it’s considered to be the reason for the reformation of the American Magical Creatures Regulation Act. Did you know that twelve different breeds of dragon originate in America? Particularly in the North West.”

He couldn’t stop the word vomit spewing out of his mouth, it was mortifying. He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, sweat pooling in the small of his back. Bill was everything Cedric ever wanted to be. Effortlessly intelligent, confident without arrogance, charming without being overbearing, Bill was, as cheesy as it sounded, **cool**. 

“I didn’t know that, actually, though you and Charlie should really meet. He would love you. How’re you settling in?”

“I’m, it’s been, well, good. I’m good. It’s been good. Merlin, sorry, you’d think I’ve never spoken to another human before!”

Bill laughed, head falling back as he did. “Oh, you have to meet Charlie. This important?” He waved the book around. “Can you put if off?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess.”

Jumping up, Bill tossed the book back onto the stack and stuck a hand out toward him. “C’mon mate, got some people you might like to know.”

Cedric grabbed Bill’s hand, flushing again at the warm grip when Bill simply adjusted their hands instead of letting go once he got up, fingers warm around his own. “Do you, I mean, I’ve heard. Uh… Do you know Mamba?”

“Yeah, I think he would like you, do you want to meet him?”

Dropping his chin, Cedric glanced once more at the stack of books, the obligation and pressure and stress, on the table. His fingers flexed around Bill’s large hand, the touch grounding him. “Yeah.”

Bill smiled, sharp and promising as he tugged Cedric out of the room.

-oo00oo-

“I don’t see the problem.”

Gaping, James moved around the bed to step in front of his wife. “What do you mean you don’t see the problem? Don’t you know how wrong this is?”

Jerking away, Lily glared at James, arms crossing. “Well, he’s a murderer James! The Dark Lord’s _son_! He doesn’t deserve magic! Or freedom!”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you! You! Of all fucking people!”

“Don’t speak to me like that James Potter!”

“Then don’t act like a mindless fucking Dumbledore groupie! Fucking hell Lily! **This** is murder!”

“It’s not murder! He’s a criminal! He isn’t dead, is he?”

“Merlin, I can’t even look at you! Who are you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“This isn’t you Lily!” Reaching out, James wrapped his hands around his wife’s shoulders. He just wanted to shake her, wanted to wake her up. Ripping herself out of his grasp, Lily practically stomped her feet, pretty face twisted into an ugly sneer. 

“Like you would _fucking_ know James. You spend every Merlin damned minute with your friends!”

**”And you with yours!** Dammit Lily! You never want to be around me, what else am I supposed to do? I’m here! I’m trying to talk to you! But you’re just doing what you always do! You push me away or ignore me or, even better! You mock my opinions and ideas! That’s my Merlin damned favorite! You’ve always thought you were so much smarter than me. So much better. You’ve never had a problem letting the whole world know it either!”

**”I am better than you!** Why else did _you_ chase after _me_ for five damn years? You wanted me because I was better!”

Shaking his head, James felt all the rage fall out of him, all the tension flooded away, making his shoulder drop as he sank down onto the bed, their bed. “No Lily. No. I always knew you were a good person, I always thought so. That’s why I chased you. Not… not because you were _better_. If I thought that, fuck, why would I want to be with someone like that? Someone who I thought was better than me? Why would I want to be with someone who thought they were more than me?”

“Well, then, why are you with me?”

“I don’t know Lils. Honestly. I don’t know. Tell me how to fix this. Tell me how to make you love me again. Tell me how to make you love me at all.”

“Maybe you can’t. Maybe I don’t want to. _Maybe_ I never did.”

With a toss of her hair, Lily stomped away, door slamming shut behind her. On the bed, in their room, surrounded by their things, James laughed. Hollow and bitter. He laughed as he started to cry. “But I love you.”

-oo00oo-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHGADMS Magical Theory 
> 
> Over the years I’ve ready many interpretations of magical theory within the Harry Potter fandom, it is perhaps one of my favorite inconsistencies of the fandom. While in the book I interpret the magic as ‘perfume’- visible for a moment, then fading into invisibility, only tangible through soft, fading smells- I enjoy that a lot of FF writers choose to give magic a physicality. For OHGADMS I wanted to use a personal favorite-magic as a visible, consumable, audible entity. 
> 
> With this consideration, I also wanted to provide (within the context of this particular fic) an exchange, like alchemy, you must give to receive. If magic casting can wear you out, then are exchanging your energy, your power and your life for each spell? It stands to reason that more can be given in exchange for different results. 
> 
> Give of the body to receive of the body?   
> Give of your power to receive of power?  
> Give of your life(strength) to receive strength?
> 
> Furthermore- with providing each spell a clear form, a definitive smell, texture, sound, it creates an entire world of categorization and subcategorization. Protections as Earth-dirt, gravel, mud, grass. Offensive as weapons-fire, lightning, water, snow, metal, stone. Etc. It opens doors to ‘natural’ magic, which leads into The Call-a pseudo religious context behind the source of power and direction for each Magical person-one that opens doors to an entire new field of study and consideration.
> 
> Just a few thoughts. 
> 
> Mind the stones Loves.


	5. I Know Your Soul Is Not Tainted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The students return to Hogwarts, where networking can begin. Bonds are found and tentative friendships are forged. Blaise gets a surprise request.

-oo00oo-

Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson arrived at Grimmauld place a few days after Neville and Cedric, with considerably less fanfare. Jimmy felt a little bad for them, while Cedric and Neville had their parents with them, the two Slytherins came alone. The war had affected a great many people, the children of Death Eaters perhaps most of all. After the death of the Dark Lord the Ministry had rounded up all known followers and sent them to Azkaban to await trial. The children had been left behind, forgotten orphans of the war.

Setting his book down, Jimmy watched as Ron swept in with Neville, pausing to greet Pansy and Blaise as kindly as he could before they headed toward the pile of sandwiches on the table. Rose and Ginny weren’t far behind, still giggling, heads together as they took seats across from the older boys. 

Jimmy watched as the older Slytherin’s took seats far from the other teens, heads bowed together as they spoke quietly to each other, discomfort visible in the way they held their shoulders. Remus gathered two plates of toast and eggs, sliding them toward the teens with a soft smile as he took a seat.

“I know you’re both probably tired, Sirius and I have spoken to Draco, he and Mamba have agreed to share a room, so you two will have the room adjacent to theirs. I’ve already split it into two small bedrooms so you’ll have your own space Pansy. I know it’s a little cobbled together, but we will adjust the rooms while you two are at school this fall. You’ll both have your own space when you come home for Winter Break.” Remus smiled, golden eyes anxious as he looked between the Blaise and Pansy. Both teens looked tense and uncomfortable, they hadn’t even come with luggage. Pansy was wearing the school uniform, robe shortened like a skirt around her rounded thighs. Blaise was wearing muggle trousers and a simple button down shirt. Pity rolled in Jimmy’s stomach, they’d need whole new lives. 

“I’ll show them around Mr. Lupin.”

For the first time, Jimmy watched what looked like relief sweep across two faces as Draco sauntered into the room, Bill at his side. “Thank you for bringing them.”

Shooting a saccharine smile at the older man, Draco turned and swept his friends up in a quick hug, mouth moving as he greeted them in flawless French. Curiosity burned when he heard Mamba’s name mentioned and Jimmy wished for a minute that he had taken his mother up on her many offers to hire a language tutor. 

The past few days had allowed Jimmy only one chance to see Mamba again. The prisoner had even smiled at him in that disturbing way of his. The limited interactions had him itching for more. He wanted to know the Dark Prince for some reason. Something about the older teen was captivating, familiar almost. Knowing that Draco and his group of friends got to be close to Mamba, got to speak with him, interact with him, _touch him_ made something inside of Jimmy roar with jealousy. 

It was a confusing emotion. He wasn't attracted to Mamba, he didn’t think he was at any rate, but he felt a type of, ownership, over the prisoner. Something in him wanted him to fight his way to Mamba’s side and take the position as his right hand as his own. It was a darkly obsessive thought, one he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with. His mother had forbade him or Rose from going anywhere near the Dark Prince, which just made him want to be near him more.

Shaking his head, Jimmy marked his spot in his book and pushed himself away from the table. He needed to see Mamba, if even from a distance, if only for a moment, he needed to see him. He made sure to wait until the Slytherins rounded the landing to go up the second flight of stairs before he started after them, feet quiet in that special way Padfoot taught him, breathing low and even. 

He reached the landing and waited, anxiously peering down the hall toward his mother’s room, hoping luck was on his side for once. Dad was at the Ministry with Padfoot, and mother was supposed to be working on her lesson plans. Taking a deep breath, Jimmy turned and walked up the last flight of stairs. Sirius always told him not to creep up a staircase, creeping made the stairs creak. 

He reached the top and took another steadying breath so he could cast a forget-me-not on himself, he paused, considering, before layering a disillusionment and silencio on top. Hoping that the three would be enough. Tucking his wand away, Jimmy resisted the urge to crouch as he made his way down Draco’s hallway. The third floor had two sides, one hall led to Remus and Sirius’ area, a small, almost apartment like set of rooms that consisted of a small kitchen, communal area, bathroom, study and single bedroom. It was similar to what he and his parents had. He had heard that Draco had a similar set up down his hallway, only with an additional room. 

Slipping down the hallway, Jimmy held his breath as he rounded the bend and stepped through the dark doorway into a small communal room. The couch was placed like a throne, facing the doorway and, incidentally, the fireplace. Jimmy felt his heart stop at the sight of Mamba. The Dark Prince sat in the direct center of the couch, Pansy Parkinson in his lap, her silky skirt pushed up around her hips. Blaise Zabini was pressed against his side, one hand up the back of Pansy’s shirt, the other pressed along side both of Pansy’s hands, against Mamba’s chest. Against the gaping, bloody wound around the teen’s heart. 

From the doorway, Jimmy watched as Cedric, Draco, the eldest Weasley brothers and the twins surrounded the trio on the couch, hands reaching and twisting into the fray. He watched as Pansy started moaning, her hips jerking while she bounced on his lap. Blaise stripped naked beside them, shaking as he he took Pansy’s place on the Prince’s lap, body rolling in time with his groaning. Gasping, Jimmy couldn’t stop the hand he pressed against himself, disgust and thrill shot through him as he watched Bill lift Pansy up, pressing her between himself and Cedric. 

The room stank of sex and smoke, the chorus of moans and the low thrum of magic nearly drowned out the magical record player creaking away in the corner. Jimmy jerked, eyes flying open when he felt the flare of magic sweep through him. Looking up, he felt his heart stop as he came eye to eye with Mamba, who could, of course, see through each of his spells. Flinching, Jimmy ripped his hand away from where it had been pressed against the front of his pants, shame flushing his cheeks. Even drowning in embarrassment, he couldn’t look away from the Dark Prince. 

Mamba held his gaze as he forcefully moved Blaise in his lap, hips rolling. Jimmy felt drunk, head foggy and heavy, the smoke and drugs and sex was all he could smell. Magic, binding, hot, electric magic was all he could taste. The room was a nightmare and a fantasy, and Jimmy couldn’t look away. 

Over the moaning, music and magic Jimmy could hear a voice, hissing low but clear as church bells. “My little Cerberus. Are you ready?”

Confused, aroused, disgusted, Jimmy took a halting step back, eyes ever locked on the Prince. “What?”

Quick as a snake, Mamba moved, hands setting Blaise aside as he flew across the room, stopping a few, scarce breaths away from him. Jimmy could feel the heat of his body, the ache of his magic, he could feel each exhale as Mamba slithered ever closer. “Run little Cerberus, run back to the loving comfort of your books and your studies. Return to me when you are ready. I will be waiting.”

Leaning closer, Mamba pressed a harsh, fiery kiss to Jimmy’s cheek, lips like hot coals. Whimpering, Jimmy watched as Mamba stepped back, the room full of his people frozen where they sat, watching them. Blinking, Jimmy felt a tear slip down his cheek and the world tilted sideways before turning black. 

-o00o-

Jimmy woke up alone, in his room, his book pressed under his cheek and the ghost of a burn burn shaped like a pair of wicked lips on his cheek. Turning his head, Jimmy threw up onto the floor and down the side of his bed, body shaking. He wiped his cheek and clutched at his book with trembling hands. Arousal and nausea shot through him in equal measure, making his stomach clench. 

His hands shook as he reached for his wand, stuttering over the words to spell away the mess, he barely managed to get most of it before he had to drop his wand to rush to the bathroom to be sick again. He leant over the toilet, hands pressed against the cool porcelain of the seat as he trembled. The confusing litany of _want_ and _fear_ thundered through his veins, thicker than his own blood. 

Breathing forcefully, Jimmy stripped out of his clothes, wincing at the sick and sweat that stained them. He tossed them in the hamper and climbed into the shower, trying to ignore the surge of arousal that rose up to meet him at the memory of Pansy in Mamba’s lap, her shortened robe hitched up around round hips.

He gasped, want and lust rolling through him like a freight train, goosebumps rose up on his arms, and he swore the scorch of a kiss burned on his cheek. He tried to keep Pansy in his mind, but the glow of Mamba’s eyes kept coming back to him, wicked and burning. Even now he knew he wasn’t attracted to Mamba, not like he was to Pansy or to Luna, but something kept him captivated. 

Forcing himself to keeps his hands steady, Jimmy reached for his shampoo, a shudder rolling through him. The taste of sex and drugs and magic stuck in his throat and he knew, without a doubt, that he wouldn’t be able to escape the call of the prisoner kept by the order, not for long. Part of him whispered in the back of his mind, _did he even want to escape the Prince?_ He was drawn to him, he felt a kinship to him that he couldn’t define or describe, all he knew was that he needed to be there. He needed to smell and taste and feel that magic again.

_He needed to see Mamba again._

-o00o-

September dawned quietly, the heat of summer giving way to the foggy mornings of early autumn. Through the quiet in Grimmauld Place there was a steadily building bustle as the student residents hurried to pack any last minute things they needed for the upcoming year. Draco groaned, the screeching of Mrs. Weasley cut through his peaceful sleep. He, unlike a handful of the other children here, had already packed. He had secured the last of his things last night. Gruning, Draco tried to wiggle away from the sharp pokes against is hip. Mamba was awake as well it seemed. 

Turning his head, Draco hid his smile in his pillow before reaching down to lift the blankets. Mamba’s chin was resting on his sternum, eyes glittering like jewels. His claw tipped fingers were scraping over his hips and sides, almost playful. _Almost._

“Good morn’ darling Dragon.”

Reaching down to twist his fingers the the brunettes hair, Draco smiled. “My Prince.”

“Are you prepared for the upcoming school year?”

“I am. I have sent word to a few friends about the upcoming events. We are all ready for Samhain.”

Mamba purred, nails scraping over Draco’s ribs. “You have studied the cabinet, I know you will have it ready for the festivities.”

“Of course, I have a few scrolls of notes, I am prepared for any damage that may have been done. All I will need is enough private access to the room to repair it. I have Blaise and Pansy at my ready to assist me in gaining privacy.”

Nodding his head, Mamba rubbed his jaw along Draco’s collarbone, stubble catching the soft skin, Draco didn’t try to hold back the shudder that rolled through him at the sensation. “We will scry, I am afraid it is the only communication we will be able to slide past the dear Headmaster.”

“May I bring others? Students we recruit, students who want to meet you?”

“As many as you can, my darling Dragon. We will need the numbers for our plan to unfurl without hitch. This is a rare moon over Samhain, we can not afford any oversight. Preparedness will be our virtue.” 

“I promise my Prince, we will have everything by Samhain. Blaise, Pansy and myself have already begun to network within the school. We have ears to the cobblestones. Cedric is working his way through his contacts from previous years, using his influence to find strong candidates.”

“What a glorious addition he is turning out to be.”

“He really is. His need for freedom is nigh unparalleled.”

“I will be delighted to grant him his freedom.”

Twisting his fingers around the strands of Mamba’s hair, Draco considered Mamba’s words. “Even if it means him leaving?”

“His freedom will be his reward for assisting us, love. It is a promise, an oath of magic. I expect to dole out many rewards in the wake of our Reckoning. Once we cleanse this Midgardian ground of the treacherous feet that walk upon it, once we unite the magic in _all_ living creatures, freedom will be more than a gift, it will be a way of life for all those who feel the call.”

“I…” Draco faltered, fingers twitching where they wrapped around black curls. He rarely felt nervous in Mamba’s presence, his body had only ever reacted with confidence when he was near the dark prince. He, however, had begun to wonder how far Mamba’s plans stretched, how wide his scope. He would follow Prince to every corner of the earth and more, he knew this without a doubt. If Mamba wished him to rush upon a blade, he would. His devotion, his _chosen_ devotion was unwavering. Even as such, he bit his lip against his question, needlessly worried about Prince’s reaction. 

Blazing lips pressed against the hollow of his throat, reassuring and scorching all at once. “Speak my love, freely and without retribution. You could never earn my ire.”

Licking his lips, Draco ran his hand across the stretch of skin he could reach, just under Mamba’s ribs. “You promised Bill integration with muggleborns. You promised him and Cedric both freedom for themselves and for magical creatures.”

“Go on.”

“I know your goals are not mirrored in The Dark Lord. I know the future you have mapped for our world is not the same as his. I just… How far is your reach, my Prince?”

Mamba slithered up his body and Draco shivered as pale, tattooed fingers stroked down his cheek before wrapping around his throat, thumb brushing over his trachea. “My darling Dragon, my hand will extend to all who feel the call. Creatures large and small. Weak and strong. I will offer my love and acceptance to them all. Unlike the shortsightedness of Albus and his people, I seek only absolution. Those born to non-magical parents bare our gift, it is our ancestors, speaking through mundane blood. The little creatures, such as your common House Elf, are powerful but heedlessly subservient creatures. Magic should serve no man. A dragon should never be locked away in the bowels of a stone building, forced to serve, forced to guard a hoard that is not their own. Our people were once of the earth. It seems that our materialistic nature has stipped us bare of who we once were.”

His mind whirled, possibilities falling over themselves. “You want to wake the Old Gods.”

Leaning close, Mamba licked a line from Draco’s jaw to his ear, where he hissed, “Oh my darling Dragon, I wish to _consume_ the Old Gods.”

Eyes slipping shut, Draco smiled, breath catching as Mamba tightened his fingers around his throat. If he was right, the world as they’ve come to know it was nearing it’s end, and in its stead would stand a new earth, a fresh Midgard, free of the taint of decades of power struggles and misstep. “You wish to wake the magic in Midgard.”

“With you at my side, and our people at our back.”

A fresh start for all. “I will always stand with you, my Prince.”

“You would never disappoint me my wicked one.”

“Never.”

Cold lips brushed over his brow, a tongue dashing across his cheekbone before settling over Draco’s own lips. “Marvelous.”

The word washed over him as Mamba crushed their lips together, fingers flexing until they drew blood along his pale neck, making him shudder. Mamba surrounded him like a blanket, wicked and consuming, Draco was all too happy to succumb.

-oo00oo-

Draco tried not the sneer at the incoming students, his fingers nearly twitched where they grasped his book, the noise thundering. Mamba had left him burning this morning, but the feeling was slowly disappearing as the cold fingers of autumn crept in. He felt a physical loss being so far from Mamba, from the home he had coveted in the prince. Pansy was warm against his side, pressed against every inch of him she could reach. She was still trembling from the influx of magic from Mamba. 

Blaise was trembling on his left, thigh pressed tightly against Draco’s. He was more refined than Pansy, his magic was used to the influx of power and persuasion, being born to a Widow like he was. They had assignments from their prince, each of them. They had jobs to do once they reached Hogwarts, and they only had eight weeks to perform them. 

The Slytherin’s, he knew, would be easy to persuade, most of them had families caught up in the war, most of them were ready for revenge against the so-called ‘light’ side of the war. He knew that Millicent Bulstrode’s family had been taken, even though they had been neutral through both rises of the war. Daphne Greengrass’ mother had been killed by junior Aurors during a ministry raid, her father had been taken, she had been sent to live with a Ravenclaw cousin. 

Pansy had already made a list of students from other houses in their year, families torn apart by Dumbledore's people. Terry Boot, Mandy Brocklehurst, Anthony Goldstein of Ravenclaw, Wayne Hopkins and Megan Jones of Hufflepuff and even Lavender Brown of Gryffindor. Blaise had even tossed in the names Oliver Rivers and Sue Li from their year. A few of the younger years had been mentioned, no one below fifth.

They were optimistic that gaining favor with Lavender Brown and maybe Fey Dunham would help them spread their word through the lion’s tower. Draco had a nagging in the back of his mind that they key wasn’t Lavender or Fey, but Jimmy Potter. He had seen the look on the teen’s face, they way his body had swayed with the swells of magic in the room he’d spied on. The want on his face when he looked at Pansy. It could be as simple as a few well placed suggestions, maybe even an overture at friendship. If he could gain favor with the Ravenclaw he knew that his movements toward the lions would be more well received. Jimmy, though not a lion, fit in with the Gryffindor’s, his sister and the legacy of his father speaking volumes in his favor. And Gryffindor’s were so easily led. 

The train began to slow, and Draco nudged his companions to gather their things, Mamba had wordlessly handed them each enough gold to replace what they had lost. Not even Draco knew where he had pulled the money from, they had all known better than to question, accepting the money with gratitude. Mamba had smiled and rejected their gratitude, he had pressed his lips to theirs and reminded each of them that they were family now, what was his, was theirs. It had felt like a promise, and to each of them, lost in the tides of war as they were, it had felt like home. 

Draco rose with his friends, shoulders back and chin up, Blaise and Pansy flanking his sides, he knew the moment he stepped out of the compartment his schoolmates would surround him, a proper Slytherin prince. Vincent and Gregory fell in step behind him, Daphne, Theodore and Millicent not far behind. Together they moved, a silent spectre, through the groups of students toward the biggest carriage. 

The war had left holes in the student body, it was noticeable once they were seated in the Great Hall. The sorting feast had been sickeningly short, just over a dozen names to sort this year, only two joining the the snake table. 

Blaise and Pansy took their seats on either side of him, Vincent and Gregory creating a solid wall between them and the rest of the hall. He was happy to see a selection of raw food appear before them, House Elf magic at it’s absolute finest. 

“Such a pity.”

Lifting an eyebrow at Pansy’s quiet statement, Draco filled their goblets with water, admiring the frost creeping up the sides of his gold cup for a moment. “What is the pity?”

Pansy smiled, a quick, smart flash of teeth against painted red lips. “Just a pity that creatures like House Elves have come to serve, lower than the dirt we sit upon.”

Blaise paused from where he was filling their plates with raw salmon, eyebrows shooting up at the statement. “I’m not saying I disagree, but could you elaborate?”

“Think about it Blaise.” Reaching out to shove a few handfuls of undressed salad onto each of their pates, Pansy popped a cherry tomato in her mouth and chewed as she considered her words. “House Elves have magic so in-tune with the house they inhabit that they automatically know when a diet change is necessary. They torture themselves for years as a form of perverse slave punishment, starving themselves, beating, scaring, burning their bodies, yet, they only die when they are permitted by their master.”

“I… have never thought of it that way.”

“Most people don’t. The Parkinson line known for its unusual treatment of elves. We’ve always employed them rather than enslaved them. As such, we’ve earned the devotion of _generations_ of powerful little housekeepers. Seems nearly irresponsible, when you think about it, to be so cruel to a creature that could be _such_ an asset.”

“Why have you never mentioned this before Pans?”

“I was speaking to the Prince. He encouraged me to share my thoughts with you both.”

Draco smiled suddenly, cutting off Blaise’s reply. “Brilliant.”

Turning, Blaise lifted his eyebrows again. “What?”

“Granger.”

Pansy tittered beside him, carefully sipping from her goblet. “That was his thought as well.”

“I’m lost.” 

Draco patted Blaise on the hand, eyes flitting to where Granger sat, steadfastly ignoring Ron’s attempts at getting her attention. “She’s not well-liked, but her markable brilliance is indisputable.”

“Not to mention.” Pansy added, smiling around Draco. “Her loud and proud status as a muggleborn.”

Draco watched the realization dawn on Blaise’s face, his stomach taut with pride for his friends. They’ve come so far, so quick. 

“If we can get her, we’ll have over forty percent of the school behind us.”

“Pansy, your job is Granger. Find out what she wants, more than anything. What she _craves_ , and report back. We will have to see if we can get her curious enough to meet the Prince. Hint of his whereabouts. She will not be able to resist.”

Draco watched the Gryffindor table with shrewd eyes, watching Hermione again for a long moment before moving to study the dynamic of Ron and Neville. “Blaise, you and I need to work on the ‘light’ purebloods. I think your best bet would be to steer toward the badgers and the crows.”

“And you?”

Draco smiled at Blaise’s boldness, eyes locked on Neville and Ron. “I am hunting lions.”

-oo00oo-

Draco watched them for a week.

He watched Ron seek out Hermione Granger again and again, trying to gain her favor, barely making progress with each attempt. He watched each bumbling move at flirtation and showmanship as if he were studying the tides. Careful to note where his success laid along with his failures. Ron was an incredible strategist, his mind worked sideways to most people’s forward. It was captivating to see once you could find an area in which he applied himself.

Draco had managed to spy a few games of chess over the summer holidays, however, at school, on his chess team, Ron shone like glass. It was a pity he wasn’t favored like his brothers or his sister, the curse of being tucked somewhere in the middle of the family hierarchy. Draco had an inkling that this particular nugget of truth would be his way in with the youngest Weasley brother. Mamba could give Ron what he wanted most, a place to shine.

The only real hurdle in his way was Ron’s infamous loyalty. He was devoutly outspoken of his support for Dumbledore and the Order, it would be hard to sway him in their direction, particularly after Tonks’ death a few years prior. Ron had matured significantly in the last few years, Draco hoped it would be enough to allow him to bend the boy's ear about the things one must do to survive. 

It would be easier to gain Ron’s attention if he already had a lion in his midsts. And after a few days of watching Ron, Draco turned his attention to Neville. He watched Neville excel in Herbology and History, and struggle, continuously, in potions. Unlike Ron, it took Draco several days to suss out Neville’s desires. Ron had been an open book since they were lads, in that regard he hadn’t changed overmuch.

Neville, on the other hand, was known for keeping things close to the vest. He wasn’t boisterous like his fellow Gryffindor’s, he wasn’t full of arrogance or known for his showmanship. Neville was quiet, introspective, kept to himself, and when Draco finally figured him out he felt silly for taking so long.

On Saturday, after a week of observing and learning, he approached Neville. 

The taller Gryffindor was out behind the greenhouses, tending to the garden planted by the advanced Herbology students. His farm rough hands caked in mud as he dug through damp soil. Draco watched for a minute, studying the serene expression on his face. Neville wasn’t known for his relaxed nature, he was always struggling, struggling to keep up with his friends, struggling to keep up in potions, struggling to maintain a calm nature. 

“Longbottom.”

Neville’s head whipped around, eyes locking on Draco with a mildly alarmed expression. “Malfoy?”

Draco offered up his most polite expression, picking his way through the plants surrounding the garden with delicate steps. “I have been instructed to be more outgoing this year, by my court appointed guardian.”

Neville sat back on his heels, wiping his forearm across his head, heedless to the smear of dirt he left behind as he shot a confused look in Draco’s direction. “Okay…?”

Coming to a stop in front of Neville’s chosen section of garden, Draco sank to his knees and reached for a hand trowel and a pair of gloves. “Apparently, it is unhealthy to refuse to socialize outside of my housemates, so I am here, extending the proverbial olive branch. You will have to forgive my presumptuousness, I assumed it would be most beneficial to aim toward someone I would be seeing during the holidays at home.”

“Okay…”

“I figured a trade would not be remiss to get us started. I am behind in Herbology, you are behind in Potions, I figured we could help each other out. I have already asked a few fellow Slytherin’s to contribute, if you would like to extend the invite beyond yourself and your subject matter, feel free. I am not wholly adverse to a study group.”

Draco dug into the soil as he spoke, eradicating weeds gently in the soft soil. He could feel Neville’s eyes on him, but he kept his own on the ground. He needed to show his sincerity for this to work, Gryffindor’s were known to be a stubborn lot. 

“You want to start a study group. With me.”

“Yes.”

They worked silently for a few minutes, Neville carefully stakeing up a few growing plants while Draco worked through a solid patch of sprouting weeds, paying enough attention to separate a few brambles of useful weeds for himself. 

“Huh. Well. Shite Malfoy, that’s a bit unexpected.”

Lifting his head, Draco scooted his pile of weeds off to the side, away from the garbage plants. He sat back on his heels and began knocking dirt off his trowel. “Yes, I know. You, however, are the most approachable of the Gryffindor’s, and I assumed you would be the most likely to listen first and shoot spells later.”

“Hermione has a study group you know.”

“I do know. I also know that Granger is a bit of a slave driver and refuses to acknowledge when she is going too fast or starting from too advanced of a place for any who choose to study with her. I also know that most of her group consist of advanced placement seventh year Ravenclaws, and even they have started to hold their own meetings, without her.”

“Hermione isn’t a bad person.”

“No, she is not. She is, in fact, brilliant. And would be even more so if she was able to face her faults and find a balance in her studies and her social life. But, alas, that is a problem for another time.”

“Yeah. Look Malfoy, I get where you’re coming from. I know Sirius wants you to get some friends outside of Slytherin, but I don’t know how good of an idea an inter house study group would be.”

“How about a trial basis? We set up three meetings, if they go well, we can set up more. If not, I tired. No harm, no angry Sirius.”

Laughing quietly, Neville nodded his head and slapped his hands together, knocking loose some of the dirt before reaching a hand out. “Alright Malfoy, we’ll try.”

Slipping off a glove, Draco grasped Neville’s hand in his own, smiling when the other teen gasped at the surge of power beneath his skin, twisting and rolling like a current of electricity. “Fantastic.”

-oo00oo-

Blaise watched the herd of students shuffle out of the secret room on the seventh floor, his disillusionment charm holding strong as he studied each of them. He knew this was Hermione Granger’s little study group, a group that had been steadily declining in number since last year. This was the third session he’d watched come and go in the last two weeks, studying them as he attempted to figure out how to get into the classroom. Today was the first day he’d managed to arrive before the group did, just in time to watch Granger pace back and forth three times, muttering ‘study room’ under her breath as she did. 

He waited for Hermione to leave, watching her dart down the hallway in the most conspicuous way possible. Rolling his eyes, Blaise check the hallway for any life before dissolving his disillusionment and hopping down from his alcove. With another furtive glance down the hall, Blaise closed his eyes and pictured Mamba’s room from Grimmauld Place. Focusing on that image, he paced in front of the blank wall three times, careful to follow Granger’s footsteps. 

When he opened his eyes he stared at the door with a dubious expression before pulling it open. Once he stepped in he was surrounded by the familiar smell and warmth of Mamba. The earthy, spicy aroma of magic, opium and something that was uniquely _Mamba_. Breathing in the familiar scents of what he was beginning to classify as home He ran his fingers over the soft fabric of the bedspread, taking a minute to enjoy the familiarity before grinning. Looking around, Blaise snatched up the dark oak box on the bedside table before turning and taking off to find Draco.

Rounding the corner, Blaise shot off toward the staircase, excitement hurrying his step, slipping down the staircase, Blaise fought down his grin as he stepped onto the common floor, forcing himself to slow his step. Taking a steadying breath, Blaise stepped toward the Great Hall doors, pausing when he heard a throat clear behind him. 

“Uh, Blaise?”

Jimmy Potter stood behind him, armful of books, book bag hanging off his elbow. Blaise relaxed his expression into what he hoped was something inviting before waving his hand toward the alcove under the stairs. He followed the younger boy into the shadows, pausing long enough to cast a lite Notice-Me-Not charm, smiling at Jimmy’s look of gratitude. 

“How can I help you Jimmy?”

“So, uh.” Jimmy fidgeted with his books for a minute, fingers twitching over the strap of his bag. “So, you and Mal… Draco and Pansy, you all know or, are, like, _friends_ with uh, Mamba, right?”

Smiling, Blaise stepped closer, reaching out to slide Jimmy’s bag back up onto his shoulder, fingers lingering, brushing deliberately against the pounding pulse in the younger teen’s neck. “You can say that.”

“I just, I want to.” Jimmy tilted his head down, cheeks flushing. “I want to meet him. I, I don’t know why. I just. He feels familiar. I feel like… Like I knew him once. Does that make sense?”

“I think I understand. Are you sure you want to meet him? Your parents would not approve.”

“Yes!” Blushing again, this time at his own vehemence, Jimmy brushed a hand down his face. “Sorry. I just… I love my parents, I do. They just…”

Stepping closer, Blaise rolled his shoulders and let the vibrant power that surged through him spark to life in his fingers. Mamba’s magic, Draco’s magic, Bill’s, Charlie’s, Cedric’s, the twin’s. Each of their power pulled at his fingertips as he brushed them over Jimmy’s cheek, smiling at the boy’s gasp. “They what?”

“You know about Harry, right?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Jimmy fidgeted, fingers knotting in the strap of his bag. “Harry was my parent’s first child. During the rise of the first war, they hid him away at a muggle orphanage, when they went to get him two years later, after The Dark Lord disappeared, they found out the orphanage had burned down. Everyone inside had died, including Harry, he was three.”

“I think I remember hearing about that, once. It was very sad. It’s always tragic when a family loses a son, and a brother.”

“Yeah, my parents were pretty messed up from it. Still are, honestly. But… It’s just… I know they love me, I’ve never questioned that. They tell me all the time, they’re supportive. It’s just…”

“Living up to the legacy of a dead son must be hard.”

Jimmy seemed to sag, shoulders dropping. “Yes.”

Pressing his fingers to the side of his neck again, Blaise waited for the boy to figure out what he wanted to say, his heart pounding. 

“I love my parents. And I love Rosie and Harry. But…”

“But…?”

“I’m not Harry! I’m not a Gryffindor! I’m not Quidditch captain or Head Boy or dating lots of girls! I’m just… Jimmy. I like books and quiet and Runes. And I just think… I know it sounds crazy, but I just know that Mamba get’s that. That if I could meet him, talk to him, he would only see Jimmy. And… something about him feels more like family than my parents. Does that make sense?”

Blaise watched Jimmy fiddle with the strap of his bag, a nervous tick. “It does. Mamba is my family. They all are. We are one and separate at the same time. Mamba loves us, individually and together. Without expectation. You feel it to. His magic. His heart. You want to meet him because he feels like home.”

“Yes.” Jimmy’s voice was breathy, full of want and longing. 

“There is something we’re putting together next weekend, Draco and Pansy wouldn’t mind if you wanted to come.”

“You’re going to go meet him?”

“Well, not so much. We are going to scry.”

“OH! I’ve never done that! When, I mean. Where can I…?”

“Next Saturday, when everyone leaves for Hogsmeade, meet me on the seventh floor, make sure you aren’t followed by any busybodies, and you can meet him then.”

“Really?”

Rubbing over his pulse one more time, Blaise slid his hand down and patted his shoulder, steering Jimmy toward the Great Hall with a kind smile. “Really.”

Twisting under his hands, Jimmy smiled, blush staining his cheeks as he caught Blaise in a quick, tight hug. “Thank you Blaise.”

Blaise watched Jimmy scuttle off toward the Ravenclaw table, head spinning. If they could get Jimmy on their side, their job would be so much easier. Shaking his head, Blaise hefted the wooden box off his hip and headed toward the Slytherin table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a minute since I posted. This was a mildly stubborn chapter, but the ball is rolling on the plot now!


End file.
